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Can we just jump to January please? - 2014-11-14
A (don't kick the) Bucket List - 2014-10-28
Put THIS in your pipe and DON'T smoke it! - 2014-10-23
Max, Wolf, and the goats - 2014-10-15
Maloney for Congress - 2014-10-08

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1:37 p.m. - 2014-05-07
Standing Down

Sheesh, what a grouch. Bet you can hear my hairdo hissing from where you are.

It's not all wrath and snarling here, honest. Yesterday Mick and Jon went and fetched home the futon. We're just tickled. It fits perfectly and can open fully even in the rather narrow space of the front porch. The mattress is still wrapped, the guy's coming tomorrow or Friday to do the door and then we can unwrap. Right now the porch is all access to pets and I do NOT want them out there on the new furniture. One or more of the little furry shitheads got into the back hall closet and peed all over my shoes. So I'm not pro-feline at the mo'.

I am very much pro-Wolf though. My son took some advice to heart and has made more of an effort to speak to people. And lo! The kid found out they don't bite. Astonishing to think that any offspring of mine could be shy, but he is. Horribly shy. Aspies aren't famous for their slick social skills anyhow and Wolf is morbidly aware of his limitations in this area. Add in the normal adolescent awkwardness and it's a recipe for loneliness. Give the guy snaps though, he's really trying to connect. It's paying off too. He even chatted up a GIRL yesterday! I know, right? I haven't started collecting goats for the dowry or anything but I did do a Snoopy happy dance that Wolf got up the gumption to speak to a person with breasts.

'Recipe'. Another happy thing. Tonight Chef Wolf is making linguine alla carbonara. Yesterday we did a Shoprite run and picked up the pancetta and pecorino and a pint of heavy cream. I did not nor will not take the shine off this by pointing out that it's basically macaroni and cheese with bacon. Really snazzy fancy mac-n-cheese. The kid wants to impress with his super chef skills and I am his #1 cheerleader. I'll also be playing sous chef tonight and doing my best to keep my big yap shut even if things are getting scorched or curdled. The training wheels are off, my friends, and all he'll hear from me is, "Yes, chef!"

Mysterious boxes have been coming to the house via UPS. Mick is doing his best to make Mother's Day a treat for me. He and Wolf conspired up in the den to pick out a few of the best things off my Amazon wish list, though I doubt the diamond tennis bracelet or Kate Spade bag came in any of the parcels. The annual brunch at SIL's country club is on too. I'm down with that. I enjoy the brunch at the club. A wee visit to see how the other half lives and gives me a reason to bust out the Spanx and a nice dress. And the orchid patent leather pumps which escaped being peed on.

At B&N the other day I braved the children's department to snatch up a copy of this:

Oh how I love this book! I had a copy of this when I was really little and remember reading it over and over. Horton is my kind of guy. So brave, so faithful to his task. And despite his trials- illness, being mocked and abandoned by his friends, uprooted from his home and made a spectacle of in a faraway land, he doesn't quit. Then at the end when it looks like that horrible Maysie bird is going to snatch away his glory and he'll have nothing for all his pain but emptiness and defeat out comes the elephant bird! Horton's true child! YAY! Then best of all...Horton gets to go home! With his head held high and his amazing child to show for all his effortful courage.

Best hero's journey EVER!

Another journey, a semi-hero this time. One who's all too human and flawed and only brave in spots (like most of us) I'm about halfway through Sandra Tsing Loh's The Madwoman in the Volvo. Not exactly a soul sister- her kids are too young, her lifestyle too Trader Joe's and angsty first world problematic to run parallel with mine, but boy howdy do I relate to the hell that is menopause. Or peri-menopause to be medically accurate. This loopy, crazed, on again/off again bullshit which basically takes whoever you are and puts in it Satan's Cuisinart for a few years before finally spitting you out parchment-skinned with a potbelly and a beard, minus a few thousand brain cells and almost all of your mental picture of who you thought you were. Been there, still doing that.

I was greatly encouraged by a statistic she quoted. By 2015 American women in peri-menopause will be THE largest demographic in the country. That's right, my friends. The weeping, snarling, sweating, shouting, lost in her own house, libido challenged women ages 45-60 are IT. The single largest societal block in the nation. The straggle end of the Boomers, the lonely overlooked dopes like me of Generation Jones, plus the huge bulge of the frontrunners of Generation X are ALL in the throes and if only we could band together we could be the biggest and loudest voice of power ever. Unfortunately we're all looking for our keys and trying to remember why the hell we came into this room anyhow.

Oy, the irony.

Anyhoodle, tonight my son is going to make a hella good dinner for us. The seasonal living room is almost ready for company. Mother's Day isn't going to be quite as painful and awful as it has been in recent years. I've got good books, great friends, and the snakes in my coif are fed and content for the nonce.


Could be worse. Way worse. ~LA



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