Archive for November, 2014
We are an interesting bunch human beings, with some very interesting behaviors. I am extremely intrigued by the things we choose to collect. I myself collect rocks. Okay I know the financial prospect of my collection is not too promising, but my collection has a pretty interesting story. Even though I love science, there is no science involved with my rock collection, it’s purely a hobby of love. For as long as I can remember wherever I would go I spent a great deal of time noticing the rocks in my surroundings.
When I was a child I spent a lot of summer vacations with my father’s mother in West Virginia. My grandmother’s neighbor use to let me play under her porch. It was my version of a fort. It was a great place to stay cool during long hot summer days, and the wooden supports made excellent storage shelves on which I displayed my beloved rocks. I spent hours bucket and shovel in hand exploring the hillsides for rocks that I found to be of interest. Digging and searching all day long.
Once I had gathered my treasure I would put them into my wagon, and bring them back to my coveted space under our neighbors porch. I would then wash the dirt from the rocks placing them in the sun to dry, and then finally I would carefully place them onto the shelving. I spent many summer days, and countless hours of complete happiness with my rock collection. I’m sure my aunts, uncles, cousins and grandmother thought I was crazy. Yet they supported this little hobby. Ducking under the porch rafters to see my grand collection, bringing me lemonade, sandwiches, and inspecting the latest additions to my daily collection.
If you were to visit my home now you would find rocks inside my home, and all over my yard (I live in a state where there are no mountains) so you would know right away that this rather vast collection had been brought here to reside. What you would not know is that over the years I have picked up certain rocks from many places I have visited or once lived. You would also not know that whenever my family or friends go somewhere in lieu of a store-bought souvenir I ask them to bring me a rock.
People have various reasons for their particular choice of a collection. I’m not sure why I love rocks, I just know that I do. What I do know is whether I am wandering inside my home or out in my yard I notice them, I enjoy knowing each one has been carefully chosen. 😉
I started listening carefully to people, and their particular conversation topics the moment I realized that they weren’t just speaking. Most conversations are of a very specific content. Human beings are like deep wells, and when they become to full they begin to overflow. Words become metaphorical buckets with which we empty our souls.
What I find to be most interesting is the subject matter that causes us to reach the point where we can no longer contain the amount of words within ourselves. The very point where emptying the well becomes a necessity. Over the years I have come to find that the subject matter is as varied, and unique as the storyteller. I have also come to realize that who we choose to tell our story to is of equal importance. The big mystery of course is why we choose our particular listener. Sometimes the listener maybe someone who knows us very well. Even more often we choose someone who doesn’t know us at all.
Over this lifetime I have had the privilege of being chosen as the listener many times. Many times much to the dismay of my family (they refer to this pretty regular occurrence as the not again Mom syndrome), but they have become accustomed to my inability to walk away from the storyteller. I am fascinated by the entire process, most of all by the story I’m about to be told.
We use to take our children to South Beach in Miami every year for Easter. On one particular evening we had arrived at two o’clock in the morning. We had parked outside of the apartment where we were staying, and were coming down the sidewalk carrying our luggage. Out of another apartment came a man (a complete stranger) he walked past all of my other family members and stood directly in front of me.
I sat down my luggage on the sidewalk, and he began to speak. His eyes were filled with emotion, tears streaming down his cheeks. He told me how much he had loved his sister, and how deeply he regretted not coming sooner to be with her. She had died shortly before his arrival. He told me about how they had played endless hours as children. How she snorted when he made her laugh. He had taken a job in London, and had not seen his sister in almost five years. He told me he really thought that they would have more time together. His description of her was so detailed, his love for her was so immense, it felt as though she were sitting right there on the sidewalk with us. I imagined her listening to him as intently as I had been listening.
Two hours had passed in what seemed like a short moment. My husband ,and his cousin had unpacked. They had tucked our children in bed, and continued to watch me from the living room window. The man told me that their parents had died six years ago in a car accident. He told me that he was alone now except for his wife and their son and daughter. That his daughter snorted when he made her laugh just like his sister had. Then he stared at me with an expression that let me know he had emptied out his overflow of words. I don’t think he himself understood why he had told me, a complete stranger his very personal story. I never spoke back to him the entire time. He stood up and walked back to his sister’s apartment.
I walked back to our apartment thinking about his words, his love for his sister. I secretly hoped that when my time in this life comes to an end, that there would be a storyteller who would express their love for me with an overflow of words equally as beautiful. I also secretly wondered who the storyteller would be, and who they would pick to be their listener. 😉
So yesterday was Thanksgiving. The food was good, the company was great… mainly because we didn’t have any. Me and the kid pretty much spent most of the day playing World of Warcraft until the wee hours of the morning.
I have to admit it hit Wednesday and I was about as useful at work as a coke-addled 4 year old with ADHD and once I was free, the upcoming four day weekend was the only thing on my mind. I could not give a shit less about doing anything even remotely useful, even though I had a list. I had a plan. The plan… I have no fucking clue what the plan was anymore. My kid and I usually put up our Christmas tree on Thanksgiving, neither of us have even bothered to clear a spot for it. Do I feel guilty? Little bit. Is it worth it?! Hell yeah.
Today is also what is known as that insane shit called Black Friday. If you do not know what this is, either from living under a rock or from not living in this insane country known as the United States, it is the first Friday after Thanksgiving where otherwise perfectly sane people go absolutely batshit over a toaster. It’s basically Ferguson during the riots only the stores MEAN for you to act this way and you do actually end up paying for it.
I have only once partaken in this event, my cousin dragged me to the Disney store just before they opened at midnight while we had been camping. Disney is already one of my most hated places, but had something my kid had been wanting and it, of course, was not available in any other media (Fuck you, Disney!). I spent maybe 15 minutes selecting the one or two items I felt accomplished the “happy kid” goal and got in line. In that brief period, the line was already starting to build like a snake leading from the back to the very front. There were two women in front of me, but they only had a few items. I thought “ok, line is long but with not so many items, it shouldn’t be too bad.”
One woman left and disappeared for a while. As we slinked up to the register in tiny bursts, I got to reflect on my life, what I was really doing with it, huffing the fresh campfire smell from my hoodie whenever I felt a homicidal rage coming on, pseudo-inspirational musak pumping through the overhead speakers. The woman returned… with 2 large armfuls of shit. What the fuck is this!? Why are we not jumping her shit and kicking her in the gut right now!? *heavy inhales of campfire scent* Then the other woman leaves and disappears for while. Please be taking a piss, please be taking a piss, if I had a knife I will fucking cut you if you’re not just taking a piss. She wasn’t taking a piss.
This bitch tag team did this I know not how many times. My hoodie huffing became severely more pronounced with every trip. I just started lingering closer and closer to them and into their personal space as much as I could. I figured if they were going to be two of the rudest fucking people in the store, it made me happier to fuck with them. Did you know when you carry a shitload of clothes, its hard to tell when the someone is rubbing their scent all over them behind you? I gave me great joy to think they were going to stuff campfire scented shit in boxes and give them to other people. I’d marked my territory.
To add insult to injury, the store had various employees walking up and down the already congested line like cigarette girls, with trays full of products to buy for “additional savings.” One of them apparently confused my look of horror as interest and asked if I would like whatever its was. “Are you fucking kidding me with this?” was all I could say, and she quickly scurried off.
My cousin had apparently been observing all this with amusement. They were much more adept at this Black Friday nonsense and had shopped for 10 times as many things in 7 minutes, and had missed most of the flood to the line. But they like Disney, knowing them they probably got an advanced map of this particular store and had markers on how exactly to most efficiently grab and go.
When I finally got to check out, sometime two days later, I’d pretty happily made two women immensely relieved to be as far away from me as possible, which in turn, made me happy. When we got in the car and went to head back to our campsite, they asked how I was and I just said “never again”, stuffed my face down in my hoodie and dozed off.
So, to Black Friday I say:
Try to keep in mind this blog was intended to be a place where you can post topics you couldn’t possibly openly talk about publicly. This may be subject matter some could find to be quite offensive and most assuredly a little vulgar. With that said there is nothing in this world like the conversations we have had with our children over the years. I am sure that yesterday being Thanksgiving other families were sharing warm exchanges filled with daily, and past memories. Well we are not that kind of family. Our dinner topics are always (for some reason) way off the normal range. To make matters worse my husband and I may be somewhat responsible for this because we find our kids to be hilarious.
Our daughter and son our grown now, both in their twenties. Yesterday our daughter and her boyfriend (boyfriend seems like a strange term as they have been together 6 years), held their first Thanksgiving together in their apartment. I call this young man “The Favorite” he is more on the quiet side ,and puts up with our family’s eccentricities. Our children are exactly 23 months to the day apart, but have always behaved like they were twins. One family member very accurately pointed out they do everything in tandem.
This year we happen to be discussing reasons to lose weight. Keep in mind we are celebrating Thanksgiving stuffing ourselves with delicious food. I of course say, I would like to lose weight for my health, and to feel better in general (I am a little on the fluffy side myself), the rest of my bunch are actually very weight appropriate. When my son looks towards his sister with a huge mischievous grin, and says “Mom the best reason in the world to lose weight is to avoid getting a F.U.P.A.!” Now having raised these children I knew fully that I was being set up here purely for their personal enjoyment, but I had to ask anyway. What is a F.U.P.A?
Here is your chance to leave this blog, let it never be said you weren’t fully warned! A huge smile now comes over our son’s face and he says” Well Mom that depends on whether your a male or a female.” I glance over at our daughter who is unable to contain her laughter. The favorite is looking very uncomfortable with a look of please don’t say this out loud. My son continues explaining that F.U.P.A is an acronym. I am a fairly smart woman who is much too curious for her own good. I ask my son “What does F.U.P.A. stand for son?”
His reply “If your a male it stands for fat-upper-penis- area, and if your a female it stands for fat-upper-pussy-area.” Then both of our children, seeing my face proceed to burst out into hysterical laughter. Our son takes this a little further by saying “You know Mom, that huge roll of skin that folds over, and covers your “P” areas.” I can now visualize this in my head, all too vividly. I accuse my son of making up this vulgar acronym up just to mess with me. Apparently I was wrong. F.U.P.A. is a well known thing among people of a younger age group. Part of me believes this (after a great deal of time was spent trying to convince me), and part of me is still wondering if this is true.
Whether or not this term actually exists I will tell you this, I fully intend to conjure up that highly vivid image the next time I am trying give myself an excuse not to exercise. 😉
Recently I was second in line at a popular fast food drive thru. After an unusually long wait the man in the car ahead of me jumps out of his car wildly enraged. Eyes bulging, he was practically foaming at the mouth. This man ran back to the original window where the clerk had taken his payment demanding to have his money refunded. This clerk sent him back to the second window where he was to receive his order. As this man kept running (back&forth) by my car, he seemed to be searching my face for some sort of approval to his anger. I’m not sure what the look on my face was like, I just know his behavior caught me off guard.
Now he is standing outside his car, screaming at the top of his lungs at the young woman who was appologetically refunding his money. Then he took his order, and threw it at her through the window. He got back into his car and sped off. I then pull up to the window. This young woman is visibly shaken ,and bracing herself for the possibility of further abuse from me. This was even more disturbing to me than his deplorable behavior. We are becoming a world where people who behave in such a horrible way are being accepted as somehow having the right to berate and humiliate another human being.
I felt like she in some way thought it was okay for him to treat her this way. This man had not been insulted, abused or hurt in any way. He was enraged because he had to wait a little longer than usual to be served. Her hands trembling she proceeded to apologize to me. I told her I was so sorry she had been treated that way. I told her I was even more sorry that I had not come up with some sort of a way to stop his awful behavior. I assured her no great tragedy had occurred simply because I had to wait a little longer than usual.
The truth is a tragedy had occurred. She had been verbally abused by a man with a highly distorted view of entitlement! Even worse I realized that I had unconsciously accepted this as “the norm” in our society today. I had seen this whole thing happen before my eyes, and had done nothing to stop this abuse. I like to think of myself as a good person and yet my response to what I had just witnessed was to do nothing. I now understand completely how atrocities occur while good people stand by. Who would have known the profound lesson one might learn by simply going through a drive thru. I will do my best not to fail this lesson again! 😉
These two roll in a big way from the perspective of eight & nine year old brothers. Kids today have the kind of scheduled lives that only adults had back in my day. For the love of monkeys, let me remind you that I am a personal assistant to an eight year old! My only saving grace was that the two year old’s daycare was open today. I will hence forward refer to the youngest of these siblings as “The Baby.” I received a call at six this morning from two frantic parents asking me if there was any way I could spend the next eight hours with the (mother gulps loudly) two older brothers.
Let me paint this picture for you. Little Man is eight, Autistic, and does not like sharing his personal assistant (me), and Big Brother is nine and full of the sass, and not in slightest bit interested in hanging out with his younger brother. Both are angry that their plans with their parents are shot. I have just crawled out of my bed, and can still hear that my coffee isn’t ready. My plan was to put “the magical vagina” into full swing towards helping my daughter set up for Thanksgiving. I have an hour to rearrange my day, and make it to their home.
Upon opening the door I have a full view of the boys ( the 9 year old has the 8 year old in full head lock) threatening to place his toothbrush already in use into the other brothers mouth. Dad is sweating, and desperately needs to leave. I like “Dad” he is soft spoken, and loves his boys. He is however so mild that he is often at the mercy of his boys. Mom is the enforcer of this bunch, and would need three magical vaginas to keep up! I smile to dad gesturing him towards the door. Clearing my throat I announce this is not how this day is going to go.
Looking up at me (they are happy to see me), but understand the tone of my voice. The older brother releases the headlock he had his brother in, and immediately wants to know the new schedule. I proceeded to introduce something new& surprising.Today we will be showing our parents how thankful we are to have such high rolling lives. We will be switching rolls with our parents today, like that Disney movie you love” Freaky Friday.” Imagine their surprise as they cleaned, organized, did laundry and cooked . By the time Mom arrived the boys were more than happy to sit around and be bored. 😉