This is your brain....

....on Squidbillies.

I've been fretting over getting my haircut for the past three months.  As a Curly Girl...there is much anxiety to be had when it comes to getting a haircut.

Last night I dreamed I was hanging out in my Tulsa, OK elementary school (John Ross) and 1980's Rick Springfield showed up to cut my hair.

Mm, mm, mm!  Dr. Noah Drake!!

We made goo goo eyes at each other in the mirror as he worked.  He fluffed and snipped and batted his eyes until I felt a weird tug and his eyes got big as saucers.  Dr. Drake had surgically removed half of my ponytail.  The top half.  I'm not a rocket surgeon but who the heck cuts hair while it's in a pony tail?!

Rick Springfield then started making out with me.  I guess this is standard soap opera apology method number one?  Anyways, I went with it - come on, it's 80's Springfield, you know you would too!!! - and when it was over I remember walking down the hallway and sobbing uncontrollably.

Over a bad haircut.  Sobbing to the point where I couldn't breathe.  The school secretary was phoning for medical assistance when I woke up to George meowing loudly at me and Squidbillies playing on the TV.

Cat + Unknown Hinson = bad haircut

or

Cat + Unknown Hinson = good lovin'

??

It's just an old wive's tale...

I heard, not once but TWICE over this New Years holiday, that what you spend your time doing New Years Day is what you'll be doing for the rest of the year.  It's possible I've been told this before, but after raising children and birds you learn to tune a lot of stuff out and just listen for keywords like fire, x-rays, accidentally, etc.  This feels like the first time I really listened and heard it.

Homegirl told me that's why she was going to finish getting her house work done New Years Eve so she wouldn't be cleaning New Years Day, therefore selling herself into indentured servant status and cleaning for 365 days straight.  That's what her mama always told her and then I saw someone else mention it on Facebook.

Hmmm...I thought about it when I woke up at a very late 10:00 a.m. and made coffee New Years Day.  I can't remember the last time we slept that late on a Saturday morning.  Usually by 7:30 Junior is standing over the husband's side of the bed saying "Can I please have a bowl of cereal?  Dad, are you wearing your pajamas?"  (Yes, about two months ago Junior joined, and has been assigned as Detective for the Pajama Police.  Those are some funny conversations to hear about and or eavesdrop in on.)  Junior spent the night with my brother's family.  The cousins had a great time playing together.

I couldn't just sit there and do nothing on New Years Day, even after I worked pretty hard NYE day and played hard NYE night (fireworks, tons of sparkler smoke, jerk neighbor and cops, hors d'oeuvres, dessert, dominoes - girls lost, Dick Clark, more fireworks) I could have sat around and done nothing.  I did want to get some work done so I mopped the kitchen and bathroom floors, washed everyone's bedding, cleaned the master bathroom, watched Aliens vs Predator:  Requiem, goaded the husband into running the vacuum cleaner*, worked the organizational side of the Blackberry, and messed around with my Cozi calendar.
*Brother Dear called Saturday evening to let me know that one by one, their household was erupting with pukers and wanted to know if Junior was ok.  At that time, he was just fine.

I feel like I worked pretty hard, but-cha know what??  If I can spend 2011 actually getting my money's worth out of my Netflix account, learn to effectively use my Blackberry for more than just Facebook, keep my calendar planned out and organized, and not just keep the house clean but have help doing it, I'm okay with that.  I welcome it!

And I'm so thankful that Junior waited until January 2nd to get sick and puke-y.  I certainly do NOT want to spend my 2011 chasing him around and catching his vomit in the trash can.  (It certainly beats having to drag out the carpet cleaner though.  It was a pretty sweet mom maneuver if I do say so myself.  I totally say so.)

I know when he recounts the horror of his evening and is telling me about his story tomorrow, hand motions and all, I KNOW he's going to say when he puked it came out of him "like a ball-cane-o" and then I will laugh really hard because 1) How funny is "ball-cane-o"!? 2) his puke was mostly red, the color of hot lava and 3) volcanoes hit me where I live and I have the same thought Every. Single. Time. I hear the word volcano.

My first memory of being sick and staying home from school is of my mom serving me some red fruity jello as a Sorry You Feel Bad Snack.  Seems logical, jello is easy on the tummy and fruit is supposed to be good for you, right?  After eating the snack, I curled up on the three cushioned gold couch and watched a TV show about volcanoes.  When the volcanoes started erupting and the red-hot lava spewed up and out, raining its ooze down the mountains, my fruity jello began to erupt up and out of me, down my blue night gown and as I ran for the bathroom, I left a chunky red trail across the living room floor, down the hallway and to the bathroom.

And that is why I hate red fruity jello.

And maybe volcanoes too.

And I love YouTube!

Thank you people of YouTube, thank you very much.

Most times, when I have a small flashback of *whatever* and want to research it, most times I can find it on YouTube.  This week's flashback is musical, to be more specific, My Parents' Musical.  Being a child of the late 70s, I sure did get exposed to some very different music.  (The Parents also introduced me to Tom T. Hall.)

Here are a few examples of weirdness that have always plagued me.  Emphasis on plague.

The Edger Winter Group, Frankenstein

1. I covered this one real good a while back.
2. Actually I mentioned it twice.  I have issues with this song, these people!

America, Ventura Highway

1. I always took this as "venture a highway."  I was always exploring while singing this song.
2. WTF is an alligator lizard anyways??  And why in the HELL are they in the air?  HOLY CRAP!  They're real.  Wikipedia can be a very scary place!
3. Now that I'm a grown up (and not 7) I totally get the "nights are stronger than moonshine" bit.  I don't think my nose hairs have ever grown back from that one taste.  If you've had a night stronger than moonshine, how are you able to sing so pretty?
4. Totally the first place I heard about purple rain, I wonder if Price got it from them too?
5. I don't know what's wrong with my boyfriend, but I wish he'd play them more.  And Chicago too.  forget the cowbell, we need MORE HORNS!

The Who, Boris the Spider

1. I barely remember this song, but I do remember the scary voice scaring the crap out of me.  Its possible that my fear of spiders began with this song.
2. There are only a few words to the song, it's not complicated or long.  The only lyrics I ever heard were "HERE COMES THE SPIDER!   HERE COMES THE SPIDER!  CREEPY!  CRAWLY!  CREEPY CREEPY CRAWLY CRAWLY!!"  And it made me want to scream and run away.
3. This one time, at government-run junior college, I rode the Billy Jack bus to the free movies.  The movie was Arachnophobia.  I broke the seat in front of me because I was so creeped out, I would NOT put my feet on the floor.  I had my feet braced on the back of the empty seat in front of me and ended up cracking it after kicking it for 103 minutes.
4. Until today's lyric search, I never knew that the spider got smashed in the end.  Awesome!  The spider dies!!  Wish I'd have known that for the last 30+ years.

So what about you?  Do you have any music issues or am I the only freak around here?

Totally Awkward Tuesday

I've been reading this for a while and today, I think I'm not too lazy today to play along.

I moved from Oklahoma to North Carolina in the spring of 7th grade, I believe it was 1984 and I was about 12 1/2 years old.

I had to leave my 'hood in Tulsa and all of its benefits: school that I could walk (or bike) to, skating rink, community pool, friends. My hood was my world! I seriously did not need to go anywhere out of my 'hood. It was all any my fingertips as long as my fingertips were grasping my handle bars. (Just so I don't lose any cool points, my bike was actually blue - to match my overalls.)

But North Carolina has the beach, a fresh - new start, my Memaw and Lee Anne. I was happy to be so close to Lee Anne, my Auntie Hero!!

I remember going to Lee Anne's room when we got to Memaw's house. Her room was an addition to a very old family house and it was in the back. You had to walk thru Memaw and Papa's room to get there. It was very "Hi Papa!!" and giggle/scurry to the back where the cool party was at.

Lee gave me a pack of multi-tip fruity scented pencils, a stack of her hand-me-down clothes and let me listen to her funky blue radio. Out of the clothes she gave me, I picked out my outfit to wear for my first day of school: a beige button up shirt with beige shorts and beige knee socks. Why on earth did this strike me as a dress to impress outfit? Sheesh! I must have looked like a Marlin Perkins groupie!!

I remember being scolded for wearing shorts to school, about 1 minute after I arrived. Not that they were short shorts, they were longish, hemmed just above my knee. This is the South. The humid, sticky south and wearing shorts to school was a no-no. If I could have, I would have died on the spot right there. I'd already broken a cardinal rule at my new school. I would be reminded of this rule breaking with every new teacher I met that day.

By the time my fruity scented pencils and I made it to Science class that afternoon I was feeling a little overwhelmed, to say the least. My science teacher was a black lady, I think her name was Mrs. Morris. She was teaching us about mass, weight and gravity. For the life of me, I can not remember the exact question she asked but I did go something like this:

What is the term for measure of matter something has?

And I knew the answer, so I raised my hand.

Please Lord, please let something go right today.

I KNOW this answer, please make her pick me!

Of course she did not pick me. She picked some other guy to answer the question. I also can not remember the guys name who she picked but I do remember that he was not a small, skinny dude. He was rather large, not only tall but big-boned and um...big skinned over that. He was a BIG BOY.

Big Boy answers, "My ass."

OHMYGOD!! OHMYGOD!! OHMYGOD!! DID HE JUST SAY MY ASS??? I swear I almost fainted. I can't wear shorts to school but Big Boy can cuss in class. TO THE TEACHER!!! I was red in the face, I was embarrassed for Big Boy and for Mrs. Morris. My eyes got HUGE waiting to see what was going to happen next....

Mrs. Morris says, "That's correct Big Boy. Mass is the measure of matter that an object has."

Mass.

Not My Ass.

And so began my understanding of the Southern Drawl.

Best Toy Ever

I almost fell out when I found this link on a Woot! board.  I've been studying that page and just reeling over flashbacks.

This photo is from Christmas 1973 so I'm assuming this is the original playset.  

I remember playing with this thing ALL THE TIME and not only did it serve me well, it was handed down to my sister - she came along 5 years later.  I do believe that it was still in playing condition by the time my brother rolled around

 10 years later.  (And dammit, he was the one who finally BROKE my favorite Tonka toy.  Jerk.)

I think my favorite part was the bridge holding the two halves together.  The traffic light in the middle of the bridge can be turned to change colors / directions.  I do remember it was a bitch to get the two halves joined with the bridge though.  They had to slide in just right.

The umbrella table had good "sproing" to it since the umbrella post was made out of a firm but not too rigid spring.  You could hold the base of the table and shake it like crazy to watch the umbrella bob around and not only could you hear the sproing sound, you could feel it in your hands.  The street lamp had the same awesome sproing factor except its sound was much longer and louder.  I'm pretty sure I got yelled at once or twice over that sound.

The cars that came with it all had fuel tank holes.  You could actually gas up your car at the fuel station.  If you needed to work on your cars, just drive them into the garage and crank them up on the rack.

The jail kicked ass because you could toss a Little People right into the cell and lock their ass up by twisting the knob on the top of the jail.  Twist, twist, open, closed.  This could go on for hours and HOURS.

Every single door worked and had some kind of small bump on the floors to make sure they stayed closed.

You could wind, wind and wind up the firehouse alarm.  I don't remember what kind of sound it made but I'm sure the handle had 1,000,000 miles on it by the time this village made it to baby bro.

The fireman's bed always bugged me.  It seemed like it would be very uncomfortable but the fire chief was made out of wood and plastic so I'm sure he did not mind sleeping on some cheap-ass foam.  He was so very not married because a good wife would not let you sleep on something so ugly and green.

The accessories were awesome.  There was always a steak cooking on the grill and there were several sleek captain's chairs to sit in...if you weren't busy driving a car, sitting the barber chair, laying on the jail cot or making a phone call.  The phone booth....slide open the door, slide the door closed, slide, slide, slide.   HOURS AND HOURS!!

The best, most fabulous part....check out the TOP of both halves.  There's a handle!  Chunk all the stuff inside, close her up and you're off to grandma's house with your favoritest toy EVER!

All of this fun can be yours too on Ebay.  Buy it now for $92 plus $29 shipping.  I wonder how much it sold for in 1973?  Damn, I think I want this for my birthday.

Setting Examples

This photo makes me laugh like a hyena every time I see it.  I’m the clown, clowns are funny.  My witch friend is Cassie, we pretty much grew up together (at least from about 1 to 12).  We are four in 1975.

I’m not sure why Cassie is looking at me and smiling other than I’m a clown and clowns are funny.  I have no idea why I am smiling so intently.  We are four so I’m guessing our camera hog gene was firing pretty rich back then.

When I found this photo last night, I laughed and laughed and laughed.  It’s just so goofy.  This photo is early evidence that I spent the majority of my youth living in overalls.

My laughter eventually breaks into tears.  While I am happy Cassie and I had such rockin’ Halloween costumes and make up, I can’t help but think about our mothers who got us all dressed up.

If I remember the story correctly, our mothers met in a laundry mat.  They were close in age, Cassie is a month older than I am and behold!  Cassie’s mom and I share (as well as a very dirty, dirty democrat) the same birthday.  Alas, being a young child, I didn’t really care about their womanly relationship, I was just glad to have someone to play with.

I too have known the joy of finding a friend, a best woman friend when I was a young mother.  Her daughter is a year older than Elder Spawn.  We met when they were about 4.  We did lots and lots of stuff together when they were young and still liked us a whole lot.  I think they still like us now but they keep us at a teenager’s arm-length.  At all times.  Unless they want something. 

When I see this photo, I don’t really see us kids.  I see past the children and look at two long-haired hippie-ish women sitting at the kitchen table talking about how to dress us up, what they have on-hand to dress us up with and which neighborhood they would walk us thru.  They were probably listening to some kick ass music on the stereo I was never allowed to touch and maybe even drinking a glass of wine. 

I did/do these same things with my best woman friend!!!

My heart bursts with pride and gratitude when I think about all four of us:  at that same age, at that same period in our lives.  I am so thankful for the example Mom and my other mom gave to me. 

I am so thankful I was glad to find that kind of friendship as well.

OMG! Senior photos!!

Dear former member of The Class of 1989 WBHS Anti-Conformity League:

My parents are getting a new house - HOORAY! I've been on and off helping Mom packup and trash the past few weeks. What does this have to do with you, you ask? Absolutely nothing except for one tiny photo in a tiny frame.

During my senior year of high school I came into possesion of a small set of cheap-ass "lead from China" kind of picture frames. There were only a couple of them and they were just right for the wallet sized senior pics of my homegirls. The frames were perfect because there weren't too many members of the 89WBHSACL. And of course, your lovely 18 year old face was placed into said frame.

So jump ahead 19 years (HOLY SHIT! 19 years!!??) into the hallway of my parents home. Mom and I are sorting, tossing and sneezing dust out of our noses and she hands me a small picture frame. I COULD NOT BELIEVE IT WAS YOU and I really did have a good giggle. Good times. I can't believe I'd left you behind when I moved out of there. You were probably stuffed in some corner under a pile of my sister's clothes which is why you didn't make the move with me. Don't worry though, I still have lots of pics of you and us back then. Yep, I got plenty of those!

I decided I had enough lead and did toss out the frame but I would keep the photo inside. I take apart the frame and noticed you'd written a nice little message on the back.

"Can you believe it? Six years and all the things that have happened. Somehow, it was always me that caused the trouble - the 8th grade, the mustang, the beer in the school parking lot, etc. I'm glad you thought I was worth the trouble!"

I moved here in the 7th grade, making our friendship 6 years old when we graduated.

I'm not positive what the 8th grade incident was but it must have been the forgery incident. We were in band and had a pretty kick-ass instructor. Often, he would write us notes to get out of class for a practice session. I decided I didn't want to spend the afternoon in Ms. Springs' class so I wrote myself a note (this was his M.O. - we wrote, he signed) and signed it with my best Band Teacher handwriting. It worked until Ms. Springs confirmed said band jam with the instructor the next day. I think I spent 3 days in ISS (school jail) for that one. I think my friend got away though. She was in the super-smart classes and probably made up some story about going to the library or something.

When I was 15 I was dating a guy who was from the country, was 16 and had a car. It was a Mustang but the NG was broken off so we always called it the Musta. He is the first guy that bought me jewelry, small 14k gold heart earrings. Talk about BLING! tee hee!! Anyway - if you spent the night at my house on a Saturday night, you went to church the next morning. No excuses. Mr. Musta picked us up and drove us to church. On the way back home from church she decided she wanted to drive and he let her. We came home "the back way" and as I point out, "You're missing our road!" she jerks the wheel to make the turn, overcorrects and we end up in the VERY STEEP ditch. I had a concussion, a busted lip and a busted up knee. She bounced off the steering wheel pretty good and Mr. Musta came out of it fine - physically. His car wasn't busted up that bad so he didn't get into too much trouble.

Which brings us to the beer in the school parking lot. Being a member of the 89WBHSACL, you had to be somewhat nerdy, poor, social outcast kind of thing. And you had to do that stupid thing with your jeans...taper fold and tuck down into your hightops or boots. A few of us got our nerd on with the Band. The Marching Band. With Mandatory Attendance at all football games. We had a new band instructor by then and he usually let us go after the halftime "performance." (Keep in mind this was his first year and we were a very young band with no marching skills whatsoever. I'm so proud of the real marching band he did build and my sister got to be involved with. They've come a long way since '89!)

So I had put away my band uniform and went to hang with my homies. At this time I was dating no one so I can't remember why we were out in the parking lot, but we were out there. Outside the safety fence of the football field where children do very stuipd things believing that those things are cool. We were out on the backside, farthest from the school. The dark area. I believe her very cool and beautiful boyfriend was in his/someone's car. He was a year (maybe two) older than us. Someone busted out with a six pack of Bud and we all passed around the ONE CAN as we're standing near the car. The can makes it to me and she starts making those eyes at me - the ones that say "DANGER WILL ROBINSON!! DANGER!!"

It was the fuzz!

Of course, the can was in my hand. Of course!

But at least it was friendly fuzz, a sherrif's deputy that I knew. And he let me (and everyone else) go as long as I went home and told my folks what happened. Shit. Now I had to go home and tell on myself. Because a cop told me to.

And I did do it. I went home and told on myself. I don't remember what (or if) I was punished. I just remember getting busted and having to tell on myself. I remember walking into my parents' bedroom and saying, "I gotta tell you something...." Couldn't tell you what the hell I said BUT I DID IT. I DID NOT LIE ABOUT IT.

The beer incident was on a Friday night. I passed Mr. Sherrif Deputy on the stairs at church on Sunday. He asked me, "Did you tell 'em?" And I said, "Yep." And his reply was:

GOOD FOR YOU BECAUSE I WASN'T GOING TO TELL ON YOU!

At the time I immediately wanted to push him down the stairs. But I didn't. I'm glad he made me do it. It was a good lesson - or rather a couple of good lessons:

• Don't be trying to do things you're not old enough to do.
• Don't be trying to do things you're not old enough to do in public.
• Don't think someone is NOT watching you. Somebody saw you do it.
• Tell on yourself if you get caught. Honesty is the best policy.
• Dont' be a liar. Liars suck.
• Your friends always say they're sorry, or they are in trouble with you (giggling madly!). Other people don't give a shit what they did to, with or about you.

And you know who you are my dear. If you contact me, with your permission I'll post your senior photo and my goofy-assed band photo on this here blog-0-matic.

In the final laps of Sunday's race...

I was not in the pool. The race was in Callie Fornie so it was a late start. Too much cold water, overcast skies and intermittent sprinkles made it hard to swim. In fact, we didn't get to swim all weekend.

But we did talk during the final laps of the race, Her and I. She did not have good news. She laid down her Shock and Awe on me. I kissed baby goodnight, hugged Husband tight and drove to Her.

I stayed for about an hour. She filled me in on what happened and we began to make a game plan. We were interrupted by a phone call and a visit and at Her request, I left. She had business to tend to.

I can't believe what just happened. Completely out of nowhere and everywhere at once. Very close to home, my fingers are tracing old childhood scars. I know I came out of it, on the other side, the good side - well maybe the OK side on a bumpy road. I shamefully repeated the cycle to my own child. I sure am worried about my girls.

It will not be easy but it will get better. I will be a good friend. I will be a good godparent. I will be a good marksman if need be.

Wish You Were Here and those bugs were NOT chasing me!

I was trolling the Woot! boards over coffee this morning. They're having a "change an album cover to amuse us" contest. (http://www.woot.com/Forums/ViewPost.aspx?PostID=2301691)

I always remembered the Pink Floyed Wish You Were Here cover. (No dad, I NEVER EVER played your records but I did look and admire them often.) I always used to think, why is this guy on fire? And who wants to shake hands WITH a guy on fire? So I loved this cover, note the fireman standing off to the side. Cracked me up!

See original albumb cover here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wish_You_Were_Here_(album)

This from the kid who used to think giant outerspace beetles were going to fall out of the sky EVERY SINGLE TIME I heard the song Frankenstein and it came to that break in the song where it goes: WOO woo woo woo woo. Wiki says the noise is a synthesizer. Yeah - a synthesizer full of giant outerspace beetles!

That's 30 some odd years my parents' music has been torturing me! I look to the sky WITHOUT FAIL when that song comes on. Clearly I do enjoy the jam but I'm certainly keeping one eye up there...because you never know! It didn't help that those Winter boys are way creepy looking too.