Saturday, July 28, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
Friday, February 24, 2012
Saturday, February 18, 2012
It had been a long winter, at least by the looks of my legs it had.I had gone a hefty while without giving them any...tending to. I sat in the bath being stared in the face by these awkward fuzzy monsters. I tried to think of the last time they had been...addressed, and by my nearest guess, a couple months, though in my minor defense, I had gotten them waxed that time, so you know, it slowed the regrowth a bit. STILL, what I was seeing was pretty pathetic. It's not like I was single either, my boyfriend had been subject to these woolly twigs the whole time. He never made a peep about it. I figured it was because he slept with women throughout the 60s and 70s, so my grooming habits probably seemed up to snuff. Or maybe he had been biting his tongue this whole time, hoping that I would come to my senses. At least make an effort. I'm sure when he started dating someone 30 years younger than him that he thought it would be a lot more glamorous, but he's not dating a Kardashian, he's dating me. This mess.
Anyway, I whacked my way through with a new razor, came out basically unscathed. The only real gash was to my vanity and ego. There is nothing attractive about the contortions and contractions you have to mold your body into to reach all of the leg. The way your gut just sits itself on top of the pubic bone as you lift a leg to reach the back of your ankle. Staring smack on into your vagina. I felt like saying I was sorry for all I had put her through and thank her for being such a trooper all of these years. Thankfully I was done shaving the back of my ankles before I made that awkward misstep. I remembered watching a Celine Dion music video where she is in the bathtub shaving her legs soooo elegantly and beautiful with a healthy glow and smooth feminine motions, like she is directing a symphony, and here I am sweating like a junkie, trying not to tumble against one wall or the other and I'm missing spots left and right, had to go over everything more than once because of the sheer thickness of the leg warmers I had produced for myself over the past couple of months. After about 45 minutes of wrestling with myself I emerged from the bathroom on the brink of tears. Frustrated, and exhausted I mumbled to myself "Spring better hurry the fuck up, because I do not want to have done that for nothing." Also, next time I'm waxing. And tipping VERY well.
When I stumbled across this picture, It made me very VERY pleased.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Here is how you make an omlette easy like.
Heat an oiled pan for on med heat.
Whip 4 to 6 eggs with a dash of milk.
Add eggs to heated pan.
Let sit for about 30 seconds.
Add desired fillings.
Cook for 3 to 5 minutes.
Fold and serve.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Components: a painting by my dear friend Marissa, a page of how to build a character in fiction, a list of names that I made when I wrote the first short story I was not ashamed of, my favorite picture of Elton John that I printed out 5 years ago, and have put on the wall in every new place I've moved, a picture of Lincoln from Marika and her son duct taped below the most recent picture of the boy, a framed picture from a Ricky Gervais cd collection from Sean. The love put into each piece always remind me how lucky I am. Thanks dudes.
I began taking showers nearly hot enough to scald. My body would be raging red in streaks when I was finished. I had had him turn the water heater up twice in as many months. The last time he came in from the garage he said with all the disdain he could keep behind his teeth "There. Are you happy now?". I didn't respond. I barely looked up from my book, but in my head I was screaming "NO!". These showers were the only way I could feel clean of him. Even if he hadn't touched me; just being in the same room as him made me want to instantly wash it away. Every interaction had become an opportunity to place blame. We started talking in phrases like "Your dog..." "Your son..." "Your Mother/Sister/Father/Friend..." Everything and everyone was put in place.
I sat down on the floor of the bathtub letting the water fall harder on my back, I couldn't see myself getting up, yet. I sat for a long while over-thinking the tear that I had let fall upon my departure of the conjugal bed.
I had gotten off early from work, gone to the store, with a specific list, only enough for one meal. I found everything easily and before the baby started to fuss. He didn't like fluorescent lights or intercom systems, in fact, he still doesn't.
Upon getting home, I went straight to work building the meal I had been planning for weeks. It was his birthday. For the previous five years of my life that meant that I would spend dinner at the (god DAMN) Olive Garden. He loved their chicken scampi. A chicken scampi that I thought was a tasteless pile of vomit--much like most everything on the menu. I had attempted a scampi at home to ignite his palette before, but was always met with a-- less than enthusiastic response. This time I did my homework. I even bought a bottle of Oliver Garden salad dressing! I couldn't stand another dinner at that shit hole full of uncultured swine and cheap wine. Also, I wanted him to love my scampi. At this point, it would maybe mean he still loved something about me. He was still under the impression that the Olive Garden party was still on, but instead all of the friends and family were coming over to share our table. I breaded and fried tha chicken to the O.G. recipe. The sauce was simple and I made sure to mind the amount of garlic because, inevitably, if more than a slight tickle of it passed into his mouth he would push the plate away with a mumble an retreat into his office. I had everything prepared and warming when he came home.
"Happy Birthday Baby!! I made your favorite-- and you don't have to settle for a Coors Light to accompany!" He remained, as ever, blank. "Okay." I kept smiling. I felt like I was still sort of happy in the moment. Maybe he would snap. "Everyone's on their way." I pushed myself into him. His arms didn't leave his sides, so i squirmed mine through. I pushed myself in and up to ty and kiss him, but he was too tall. He slowly tilted his head toward mind and paused. "Did you have garlic?" Ain't that a kick in the head.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Some things I would have liked to miss:
1. This conversation:
* squeaky firework *
Oliver: “That one sounds like a wet fart.”
Tommy: “A FOOP!”
Stranger: “What’s a foop?”
Oliver: *pensive-thoughtful pause* “A fart with a re-fill”
2. Fireworks. They are fucking scary.
4. My ass in the mirror when I walked by in my swim suit.
Some things I was supremely happy to be a part of and see:
1. My bestie having a great birthday. However drunk and messy he gets, he's still one of my favorite things on this planet. And he smells wicked nice. Always.
2. The FOOD! Tables and tables of goodies. Sweet and savory. Hot and cold. CUP-CAKES!
3.Oliver being accepted and encouraged by a group of adults not accustomed to kids. I was really touched by them and so proud of him. He's the light of my life and it is rare for me to see people respond to the light he brings into theirs in such a positive way.
I'm sure pictures of the event will surface soon. I really can wait.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Charles (Nixed because Chuck is unforgivable)
Agnus (Nixed because everyone else on the planet sucks.)
Kingsley (Front runner, nixed because, I guess, It wasn't completely my decision.)
Roth (Shut up, I was wicked hormonal)
Leonard (NOT Leo)
Dickens (I couldn't do it to him: Dickie)
This was the short list. You don't want to see the long.
Two types of Balogna. TWO!
Two types of cheddar
Half an apple
Weird German wine
3 types of mustard
2 lbs of butter
Straws (I like them cold)
For your information.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
That newspaper blowing in the wind is not weather.
That recycling is not just clean garbage.
That asteroids are not planets.
That all clear things are not primarily composed of water(this one got deep!).
That sugar is not just sweet salt.
That pink is a color and doesn't really sound like anything.
That last names aren't really that random.
What air tastes like.
That all dogs are NOT cute.
and, last but not least, cable T.V.
Now we are six, indeed.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
I huddled over a notebook in a darkened corner of a large room. I was getting chafed by the fact (or feeling) that every time I finished a page there was just another blank one needing for me to fill it.
“Please please please please let me get what I want , this time.”
It came over the speakers and wrapped itself around me. The song was as familiar as a lover to me. But what do I want?
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
Team Celine Membership: $55.00/year.
Laundry: $12.00/ week
I felt good about this. I felt proactive! I felt in control. I even made up a little graph and spreadsheet to monitor my progress.
Today was the first day of doing my own laundry in over a year. I had let it pile up to where I was on my last pair of underwear and on about the 6th run of each pair of pants. Not pretty, I know,but being someone who really doesn't like change, and who has a pretty severe case of social anxiety made it a bit difficult to talk myself through that laundromat door. I have had the clothes separated into colors/whites/delicates/ and perm press for weeks. Literally weeks. I wrestle the overflowing bags and baskets into the car, take a deep breath and climb in the driver's seat. I do a mental checklist of supplies. Laundry? Duh. Detergent? Yep. OxyClean? Yes. Fabric softener? Check. Quarters? $20.00 worth. Okay. I drive the few blocks to the mat and psych myself up on the way. This is going to be a good change. Bree, you can do this. Everyone you know does this. I find close parking. See, already blessed. Maybe it was the pennies that Oliver had left in my shoes, I think. He had heard somewhere that it was good luck to put pennies in your shoes. Now all of my shoes (and his) had pennies flopping around in them, but I felt bad taking them out. ANWYWAY, close spot, good, I've got a lot to pull inside. I drag one of the biggest bags with me to the door. I look through the glass, not too packed, good. A well mannered gay man opened the door for me. WOW, I think, nothing to be nervous about. They're normal and nice. I realize then that he has a peg leg. Still, pretty normal, I guess, and still definitely nice. I walk to a back corner where there are 5 machines together that are open and I fill 'em up. I picked these five because there was little chance anyone would come around. There were 5 washers and 5 dryers all together, and away from the rest. I get the last garment into its respective tub and I look to the next step. “Okaayyyy. Now to get these puppies purring.” I mumble to myself. (Puppies purring?! Seriously. WTF.) I don't catch myself because before I'm done saying/ it I realize that I have nearly no idea how to start these damn things. There are coin slots, rubber flaps, levers, buttons, and yet the display screen is only big enough to display the cost per load or the number of minutes remaining in your wash. I take a guess at where and when to throw the soap in after I pay the $2.00 per load (Where do they get OFF?). Water comes shooting out of the hole the second I lift the flap. Apparently I got the timing wrong. The attendant (the man who opened the door) sees my trouble and comes over. He tells me I should have put the detergent in BEFORE starting it and that it is on the instructions (located on the far wall!!) I no longer think him nice. Well, there. The clothes were washing. Which is what I need. I have 35 minutes to wait before tackling how in the hell to use those dryers. I sit down on a piece of plastic lawn furniture that they have so thoughtfully set out and open my book. I look up nearly every minute to make sure something isn't blinking, or beeping, or shooting, or burning. I feel like I've done it all wrong and Peggy is going to have my ass. About 15 minutes in, and after reading the same paragraph about as many times, I put the book away. I turn my attention to my fellow launderers. I notice in the other far off corner there is a man, i guess he is probably homeless, it's bordering on a hope, sitting in not much more than an A shirt and boxer briefs. And by not much more, i mean, he was also wearing a big necklace and a pair of flip flops. Hmm, I think. I guess that makes sense. There is a little boy who is running the length of the mat with a bag of cheetos and a full pepsi can. It was getting less full by the second because he was spilling with every stride. I then notice just how FILTHY this place is. There are dirty bandaids on the floor, toilet paper in the corners, Lint stuck everywhere and to everything, Ehhhhlllll. I came HERE to clean something. My CLOTHING. Christ. I am regretting this idea. I'm pulled from this thought by a beeping sound coming from one of my ephemeral washing machines; I look and the screen is blinking a 1. I jump up thinking that means it's either done or about to explode. I run over and I open the top, my clothes are still in a high speed spin. The Peg-gay(yeah I said it, well thought it.) comes over, faster than I would suspect him to move, and says “Don't open the washers during a SPIN!!!” “But It was beeping and blinking!, I thought that meant it was done!” “No, SU-GAR, it is just telling you there is a minute left!” “Oh, well, wouldn't just the 1 on the screen tell me the same thing?” He lets out a sigh of obvious irritation and walks back behind his perch. Hrumph. Blerg. OKAY! Moving on. I need to dry this shit. The dryers seem much easier. There are just buttons and slots, SWEET! I Transfer the loads, pay, guess at the appropriate cycles and stand there for, probably a couple of minutes just watching the clothes circle themselves, waiting for something to go awry. All seems well so I start nervously pacing around a bit. You know, just passing the time. I check each dryer every 5 minutes or so to monitor progress (Why?? Fuck if I know). I spend the next 45 minutes checking and pulling garments out that seem done. Adding more quarters, and with them, 9 minute increments of hot air and folding. The homeless man moves closer when he sees me pull out clothes, I realize, because he wants to watch me fold my underwear. Yes, I fold my underwear. When they are as cumbersome as mine, you simply must. I start blocking his view with my body, which feels wrong because now my back is to the creep who is trying to see my underwear. GOD THIS IS SO STRESSFUL! I make it through secretively folding all of mine and Oliver's clothes and I fit them back into the totes and baskets. I start walking out the door and Peg-gay grabs it for me, just like old, and better times, and I walk to the car.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
This was a step that needed to happen. It needed to happen years ago. Still its impending approach was activating every ounce of nervous energy I could produce. I tried not to leave myself to it. I had read more, moved more, and thought more in the past few weeks than ever before. It was all still barely enclosed in my skin. I felt like I was exuding it like a foul oder.
Monday, February 9, 2009
He gets picked up by his dad and I go about the chore of putting him away. I pick up the G.I. Joes, put away the crayons, stash the Unicorns, and I remembered the Value Village Run.Ｉpull his tote out and look at his pink collection. Then I remember my new purse! I pull it out and I start to check out the pockets to see what I can fit where and I came upon these three things, all in different pockets:
3. Planned Parenthood appointment card
Sunday, February 8, 2009
"Did you figure it out yet?" His voice startled me and ripped me out of my thoughts.
"Oh, um, no. Let's just get a cab. Did that flight seem longer than six hours to you I'm wiped?" I said.
"Why, are you hungry again or something?" I dropped it. I moved to the part of the sidewalk set aside to hail cabs. One was almost instantly availabble to us. We climb in, unsuspecting tourists. The cab smells terrible! It's worse for me with my over sensitive pregnancy sense of smell. The music is on, too loud. The seats are sticky, and felt wet. WET. In addition to being loud, the music is bad. I have always been sensitive to noise, but in this moment it was made worse by the clammy heat, the smell, a roaring headache and sporadic nausea. I don't complain. I didn't want to seem fussy. I clearly speak the address of the hotel. The cab driver makes absolutely no acknowledgment. He just hits the gas, hard. The shock sent a shooting pain deep into my pelvis. I wrapped myself around my bulging stomach until it passed about 10 seconds later. The cab is now speeding down the road and it pushes itself between S.U.Vs and shuttles with hotel names scrawled over every inch of their exterior. It weaves around, and honks at, rental cars filled with nervous drivers. His driving gets, slightly, better as he begins talking. Though, not to us. He has a wired headset attached to his ear, and clipped to the collar of his orange stained polo shirt (seriously. Ew). He doesn't do any of us the favor of turning off, or even down, the music. Stillmatic bas Nas is playing over the speakers, half of them blown. I'm angered by his obvious lack of musical taste, by his broken English, the shirt, the headset, him in general. I look to my backseat companion to try and see if I have a companion in this feeling as well. Per the usual, he seems wholly unaffected. Genuinely unconcerned with anything that is going on. His indifference was inching up on my breaking point.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Goodbyes had always been hard for me. I didn't know how to approach them. I had developed at an early age a fear of letting people know how much I cared for them. It stemmed from a fear of embarrassment. I was terrified of someone feeling like I cared more for them than they did for me. I thought it a weak position. Also I would care deeply for people really quickly, and still do, and I felt unworthy of someone feeling the same for me. Somewhere I had learned to be a martyr. He
had begun to develop the same uncertainty and awkwardness about goodbyes.
“Okay, it's time to go.” I said. It hurt to say it. Even though it was everything I wanted at that moment. I wanted to be away from this. From what was happening. I was having sympathetic responses for the boy. My chest was as tight as I imagined his was with trying not cry. My eyes filled and burned.I saw the goodbye happen and I pulled him out the door. He made it through the door closing behind us and about a half of a block before the first tear fell. I left him to process a bit on his own (mostly, because I needed to form SOMETHING to say). I finally approached that tear about a block or so from where it fell.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
This is a t.v. watching a t.v. watching a t.v watching a t.v... with legs:
This is a jelly fish--renamed a j-ollie fish:
* The title of J-ollie fish was not actually added by Ollie. It was the brain baby of Sean The Clam.
This is a clam named Sean on a beach, spitting:
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Friday, August 1, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
"I'm cold for goodness sakes!" he nearly yelled at the pestering youngsters. They weren't younger than him, most of them at least, but him being the tallest and largest they looked up to him. Not just literally. They were wanting him to pull them through the deepest part of the wading pool. He was the only one tall enough to crawl through on his knees. It was no easy feat. This pool was formed out of uneven pebbled concrete. It was harsh on the bottom of your feet, I gathered it wouldn't have been any easier on the knees. He had been talked into doing it once. Which he did for everyone, to be fair. Even though after the first go with the first fair weather friend the chore in this game had to have become obvious. When they asked, then begged, then downright demanded another trip across he rose his voice above the rest and said an uneasy lie. "I'm cold for goodness sakes!" They instantly grew tired of him and left. Like a puppy in the rain he sat there soaked and alone. He eventually found it in himself to slink out of the pool sad and defeated. He came and sat next to me. I could see the marks the concrete had left on his knees. I touched his knee gently and gave him a look full of every ounce of understanding I could muster. He looked up at me and calmly asked for his towel.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
This was taken this last weekend. It was Oliver's second gay camping trip. He had a really great time. I hadn't seen him be so excited and happy about anything in a long time. He was constantly laughing and nearly giddy the entire trip. He lifted all of our spirits by allowing his to be lifted.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
This album came up in my Itunes just now. I don't know why I have it. I don't know why I have a lot of things. Like, the other day Leann Rimes singing Purple Rain came on. What the Huuhhggh? Which I instantly added to my running list of worst covers in the history of history. It joined the likes of Hootie and the Blowfish singing Please,Please,Please Let me Get What I Want, Celine Dion singing Here, There and Everywhere, Bono doing I am the Walrus, and yes, Celine Dion doing You Shook me All Night Long; which is somewhat officially the worst cover ever says these guys.
Wait, back to what I was originally saying; the album is reprehensibly bad, every song is a nightmare, but his facial hair is some of the most commendable I've ever seen. At lease since this. I'm just saying, I tip my proverbial hat to you Michael McDonald.
Oh and, this rules:
Facial hair is a secondary sex characteristic in human males. Directly above a picture of my dearest Abe.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Friday, June 6, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
You're something I can't need, and I something you don't want to.
on live journal they have a button called 'writer's block' which prompts you to answer a question and post the answer. yesterday the question was "pirates or ninjas?". i composed a venn diagram to try and work it out. though, i still don't know where my pre-fer-ence lies.