I went ahead and did it.
I figured, what the hell. Why not.
I went ahead and did it.
I figured, what the hell. Why not.
Today I should be totally excited, but I feel like I could barf a little bit.
I’m going this afternoon to get my Mother’s Day gift from Bill. Two new tattoos.
Any gift giving occasion, I pretty much always want tattoos. This is nothing new. But where I’m putting these tattoos is new. And for some reason, I’m kinda nervous about it.
A while back, I saw a picture of a girl wearing some really snappy looking black shoes…I was shopping for shoes for Xmas for myself. Sometimes I want something different from tattoos. Not often, mind you.
But anyway…she had on these cool shoes and right above her feet but below her rolled up pants, she had 2 black and grey tattoos on her legs, like on the fronts of her ankles. Nothing big. But pretty damn cool. And I’ve been a little obsessed ever since.
So now I have an appointment today at 4:00. After I get these babies done, Bill is taking me out to one of our favorite diners near the shop. That’s like one of my favorite life combos…tattoos followed by burgers, beers and tater tots.
Why am I so nervous. I actually have heartburn over it.
You know what? I guess I always get a little scared before. Not because of the pain or whatever. I don’t care about that. I guess part of me wonders, or worries, what people might think.
Stupid, right? I mean, I already have lots of tattoos. I love them all. I have zero regrets. Sometimes I wonder if people look at me and say–um, how old is she? What is she trying to prove? You know some people are like that. People who have nothing better to do but to judge others.
Then I get mad at myself because who gives a shit what other people think. That’s not how I roll. I mean, I used to, back in the old days when stuff like that mattered to me. Even then having to think about that pissed me off. To be honest, nowadays the only people I really worry about the opinions of are my husband and two kids. And they love me. They think I look good. I think.
Isn’t not caring what other people think of you anymore one of the perks of getting older? I think it’s supposed to be.
I just need to calm the fuck down and switch gears. Start being excited about it. They’re just a couple of little flowers on my legs, no big deal. Think how cute they’ll look with some bitchin’ shoes like that girl had on. And ooh, how about some painted toenails running barefoot?!
One time, a couple years ago, I went to see a therapist. Back when I was going through some shit. She was really nice. We talked for an hour and then I never went back because neither of us thought I really needed a therapist. I told her one of my biggest problems is being scared to put myself out there. You know, as in writing and just basically saying what I really want to say.
She told me–You look like someone who’s not afraid of anything.
That remains one of my favorite things that anyone has ever said to me.
So what’s two more tattoos? I’ll tell you what they are.
They’re me. They’re totally me.
I’m going to shut up now and go get cleaned up. I gotta do a number on my feet so they are extra inoffensive today. Can you imagine being a tattoo artist? I bet they see and smell some gnarly body parts sometimes. Gross.
Well, they ain’t going to be getting any of that from me.
Wish me luck. If anyone is reading this…hello, anyone?…I’ll post pics later.
So get ready.
Back in early March, Bill and I packed our bags and drove a couple hours north to Detroit.
Why did we go to Detroit, you ask?
Why, to see the amazing Patti Smith and her band perform the groundbreaking 1975 record album Horses, that’s why.
Okay, folks. I have to explain something before I get into all of this.
This particular adventure was one of my dreams come true. I love Patti Smith. She is one of my idols. Let me give you a little background on some of the reasons why.
Back when I was a girl growing up in the 1970s, I remember seeing Patti on the cover of an album called Easter. I remember people saying she looked awful because she had hair in her armpits. But besides the fact that I thought she looked beautiful with her black hair, white skin, and angelic skinny arm pose, the hair under the arm was fascinating to me. Even though I was just little, I knew that was different and that somehow this pretty woman was not behaving the way ladies should and that it made some people cranky.
It seemed to irritate my mother as well.
Because Patti was pretty, because she had hairy armpits and because she made people talk I remember thinking–I dig this person.
I didn’t own that record Easter even though everyone knew the song Because the Night. I was more of an Osmond Brothers, Tony DeFranco, and Bay City Rollers kind of kid.
I don’t think I would have been able to comprehend or appreciate the beauty of the music that the Patti Smith Group made back then.
As luck would have it though, years later when I was in my 40s, I would rediscover Patti through her writing and by then not only could I comprehend and appreciate her art, I was ready to submerge myself in it and use it as balm and inspiration on a daily basis to, as Prince once said, get through this thing called life.
I read her book Just Kids when it came out in 2010. Bill and I were poking around Barnes & Noble and I picked it up and said “I think I’d like this.” That turned out to be an understatement. I loved that book. Reading it lead me to pick up the documentary DVD Dream of Life. I loved that too. Dream of Life lead me to pick up the album Horses.
And that record rocked my world.
It also opened the door to all her other music for me.
When I rediscovered Patti, I was a mother of an 18 year old son and a 17 year old daughter I had dedicated my life to staying home to raise. My old job of “stay at home mom” was quietly coming to an end and I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life after the kids took off. I had always had an interest in making art. Back before I met Bill, I was a college student training to be a school teacher. While taking classes for that, I took an art class for elementary school teachers taught by one of the coolest people I’ve ever met. (interestingly named Dr Easter! ha. I just realized that.) I LOVED that class. I excelled in that class. The teacher asked me one day near the end of the quarter—why aren’t you doing this instead? By then, I had been in college for 3 years. Changing course would mean staying in school longer. I couldn’t bear it, so I dropped out. I never graduated. But I never forgot all the cool things Dr. Easter taught me and the boost of confidence she gave me when she told me I was an artist.
I’ve also always loved writing. When I was the same age I was when I saw Patti on the cover of Easter, I won a contest at school to have a story I wrote about Christmas printed in the local paper. That was one sappy-ass story. But I knew people would love it. I like doing that–making people feel emotions with words. When I was a little older, I discovered writing what we now know as “fan fiction”. My personal experience with writing fan fiction started when friends and I wrote stories featuring the Beatles.
God, I love the Beatles. I’ll tell you all about that some other time. Believe me, I have lots to say about the Fab Four.
But back to writing fan fiction. When I was 13, that was all I wanted to do. I wanted to get my stupid school work done so I could break out my special notebook and write the next installment of whatever I had John, Paul, George, Ringo and me and my girlfriends up to. It was GREAT. One of my favorite memories of all time was the day school was cancelled because of snow and I spent the entire day writing and listening to Beatles records. At one point, I took a break and sat in the window seat of my bedroom that night watching the snow fall in the light of the streetlights while listening to Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. The song A Day in the Life always takes me back to my window seat that snowy night. Always.
I’m rambling, aren’t I.
So yeah. Writing. To this day I still enjoy reading or writing a good fan fiction. I have so many journals and notebooks and word documents all over my room full of stories or poems I’ve written over the years. I’d love to be published, but I admit I’m dealing with trying to get over my fear of putting my work out there for others to scrutinize.
I know what Patti would say about that. Or I think I know. I think she would tell me to quit being such a chicken. If I have something to say, say it. Screw what other people might think. She says she writes all of the time. And one thing I really love about Patti is that she left the music world in 1979 to go with her hubby Fred Sonic Smith and stay at home to be a mama to their 2 children. I love hearing her talk about how that was the hardest and most important work she ever did. It’s nice to hear someone like her say that. I feel validated by that. Also, I’ve heard her say that even through all the years she was a mama at home, she still had the need to write. She writes every day.
So….incredibly long story (not really) short…Patti Smith-the musician, the writer, the poet, the artist, the mother, the wife, the person-inspires the hell out of me. I really would like to be more like her.
I believe that has been true since I first laid eyes on her nearly 40 years ago.
SO….anyway, let’s get back to our trip to Detroit!
Back in 2014, Patti announced that she would be touring and doing the Horses album in its entirety for the record’s 40th anniversary. I told my husband then–I’d give my left eyeball to see that show.
So, imagine my bummed outedness when for the longest time I only ever saw tour dates in exotic foreign locations. I can’t say I blamed her. If I was the Godmother of Punk, I’d like to go all over the world and see all kinds of cool people and places too. But it made me sad. I thought maybe Horses would never come anywhere near my hometown smack dab in the middle of the Midwest USA.
It wasn’t like I didn’t get to see Patti at all. Back in 2015, Bill and I traveled to Chicago to see her do a Spring Awakening show at the Old Town School of Folk Music and that was incredible. That was my first time seeing her live. The same year we traveled to Cleveland for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction ceremony and concert where we got to see, among many other amazing things, Patti induct Lou Reed.
But the Horses anniversary tour continued to elude me.
Until earlier this year.
Imagine my happiness when I finally found on Facebook a list of venues Horses was going to be performed right here in my neck of the woods. Finally, I thought. I saw the Detroit concert listed first and thought–Patti and Horses in the city where she and Fred met and raised their family.
It certainly couldn’t get any better than that.
Thank god my husband said yes when I asked if he’d like to make a weekend getaway out of it with me.
So back when I first heard about the Horses tour, when I was in the dreaming about it state, I invented the idea that if I ever did get the opportunity to go, being in the front row would be the ultimate experience.
The day the tickets went on sale, I was poised at my lap top and on my Ticketmaster app and like a giant bird of prey, I swooped right in and nabbed row A on Lenny Kaye’s side.
Something you might find interesting about me–I am an excellent ticket buyer. It’s one of my gifts.
So, off Bill and I went, to the great Motor City that sunny late winter Saturday.
We stayed at a hotel in the city but the concert was in a really hip little town on the outskirts called Royal Oak. We checked in and started getting ready to go to the show.
I was a nervous wreck the entire time I was getting ready. I told my husband I was freaking out because I had waited so long for this experience and now it was upon me and soon it would be over. I fretted like a maniac in that bathroom. I was happy when we finally left to go to the show.
We thought maybe we’d have a little dinner before the concert in Royal Oak. First of all, it was freezing up there. Bill and I parked our car, put our arms around each other and took off for the main strip. Interestingly enough, people were celebrating St. Patrick’s Day in Royal Oak, so one of the first things we saw there was a couple emerging from a bar and the girl barfing her guts out all over the sidewalk while her boyfriend watched. That was pretty gross. We moved along, looking for any restaurant we could get into. I was distracted by the many cool shops. But we had to concentrate. We ducked into several places, all of them packed. We gave up and headed to the venue to wait for the doors to open. There was a restaurant next to the Royal Oak Music Theater. It was packed, of course. But there was a small lobby right next to it and it was heated so we stood in there with another couple also there to see Patti. They weren’t very talkative, so it was kind of awkward being in that little space with them while we waited.
The venue opened the doors at 6:30 instead of 7:00 which was a welcome relief.
The Royal Oak Music Theater is a cool venue. Bill and I went straight to the merchandise table and I picked out and bought a Patti t-shirt and poster.
Then we bought a couple double Jack and Diet Cokes and went to find our seats. Front row, Lenny’s side, last seats in the row. That didn’t matter…there were only 5 seats to begin with and the usher pushed all the chairs more toward the middle so we were set up pretty darn good.
I was in heaven there in my seat with my drink waiting for Patti and her crew.
At 8:00 the lights went down and the crowd cheered. Lenny, Jay Dee, Tony and Jackson came out on the stage. I stood up. Everyone stood up. And then, there she was–Patti Smith, in the flesh, looking cool as fuck. The place went crazy. Patti stood in the front of the middle of the stage and took a look around the crowd. Her eyes made their way along the front row in front of her and then moved down our way. When our eyes met, Patti smiled.
My husband said to me–“She smiled right at you!”
And I said, “I know, right!?”
That was one of my favorite moments of the evening. Even though I’ll likely never get to say thank you to her in person, she knew all of us there that night love her and her music. The girl in the braids and cats eye glasses at the end of the row included.
Speaking of the music, when the first chords of “Gloria” started not long after I got the smile, I nearly died. Patti sang, “Jesus died for somebody’s sins, but not mine”, and I lost it. We were off and running.
The whole album Horses unfurled in front of me with 3 of the original people who played on it way back when in 1975. There were stories laced throughout, there was lots of singing along, there was dancing. Toward the last half of the show, Patti’s daughter Jesse joined the band on stage at the piano.
As the night went on, the crowd began to push toward the stage. Bill and I were already up there, so I held tight my spot in front of Lenny as best I could. Patti told the security people to lighten up after a while and let people come on down. We all gathered together as a sweating adoring mass to hear the last songs of the night. Elegie. Dancing Barefoot. Frederick. Ghost Dance. Citizen Ship.
Because the Night.
People Have the Power.
By the end of the show, a couple of younger girls had made their ways down next to me in the thick of things at the front of the stage. Which was fine by me. I’m always happy when I see people from younger generations loving the music I love. That way I know the music will continue to live on, you know? I was feeling reflective by the end of it all, amazed that I was able to experience this night of music.
Patti and the guys finished up the encore with People Have the Power and I was dancing and singing along, turning every now and then to look at my husband to see if he was basking in this as much as this as I was. The show was coming to an end and people were standing and cheering and I was sad because it was all but over.
Lenny Kaye walked back by the drum kit and reached into a little container and came over to the side of the stage where I was standing by the young girls. He passed out plectrums to the 2 girls next to me and I remember thinking–Oh please please please give one to me.
and then he did. He put it right in the palm of my hand and walked off.
I was so happy. I held the blue pick up in between my hands and gave it a kiss.
That was my other favorite moment of the night.
The show was over and the band left the stage.
I’m a lucky girl, I know.
That show was a dream come true.
I got to see the 40th anniversary tour of the record album Horses.
And I shall never, ever forget it.
Bill and I walked out of the venue that night into the freezing cold. We were starved by then. Lucky for us, the hip little joint next door that had previously been super-crowded now had a table for 2 available for us.
We sat by a window with a big full moon shining down from outside on to our little table where my blue Lenny Kaye pick sat and we ate the only meal we had in Detroit that weekend.
I just went to ask Bill what he ate that night and he said he doesn’t remember.
I had enchiladas. One chicken, one bean and one chorizo.
They were damn good.
So was that concert.
I love Patti Smith.
I love the Patti Smith Group.
I love Horses.
I always will.
God steered the big old noisy beat up Ford pickup truck in a half circle and then backed it up in the clearing near where the fire pit and tents were set up.
Suddenly, 13 young boys wearing nothing but cut off jean shorts came running out of the woods like a pack of wild baboons.
“Dad!” yelled the one in front who was clearly the ringleader of the bunch. “Guys! He’s here, come on!!”
God smiled. Them young ones were a rowdy bunch, but his son and his best buddies were the forbidden apples of the old man’s eye.
They all congregated around the man climbing out of his truck.
“Did ya get ’em?!” his son asked.
God rumpled the kid’s long stringy hair.
All the other boys looked up at him eagerly, their faces filthy from playing in the forest.
“Of course I got ’em. I’m God, aren’t I?”
All the boys jumped up and down and cheered.
The crew walked to the back of the truck and God opened the tailgate.
Inside the truck was a mother lode of pyrotechnics that he had just purchased at the store next to the Kwik-Pak where he got his weekly case of Pabst Blue Ribbon.
“Wooooaaaahhhh,” all the boys said as the Creator of the Universe crawled up into the truck. He pulled his long grey hair into a ponytail then wrapped a threadbare bandana around his head. Then he began to unload the booty.
The boys crowded around buzzing with excitement. They watched the man set up all the explosives carefully. At one point, he looked up and smiled and said:
“This is gonna give them people on Earth quite the thunderboomer.”
“Yeh!!” the boys all agreed.
“Thanks, dad,” the ringleader boy said.
“Well, now…you’re welcome, Jesus,” the old man replied trying not to get misty. Then he advised all the younguns to get on out of the way.
And for the next several hours God set off all the fireworks much to his and the boys’ delight and to the dismay of thousands of children and dogs living in the Ohio Valley region.
When the big sound and light show slowed to an end, God passed out crackling Sparklers to the pack of wild hyena boys who ran like streaks of lightning through the field.
God opened a cold one and sat on the edge of the bed of his truck and watched with a gleam in his eye.
Suddenly the Goddess was by his side with a big picnic basket full of fixins to make S’mores. She put it down when God handed her a beer.
They watched the boys running and screaming with more energy than 10 super cell thunderstorms.
“Those boys are gonna crash and burn so damn hard,” she said.
Then she and God laughed before sucking down the rest of their brews on that Heavenly stormy night.
Old Man Winter stood in front of his mirror and took a good look at his reflection.
Sure…he was an old dude now. The weathered lines etched across his face didn’t diminish the rugged handsomeness that would always remain. His blue eyes sparkled no matter which mood he was in. The crooked smile on his soft lips enveloped a mouth full of gorgeous snow-capped teeth.
And he took a moment to think about how he knew he was one lucky son-of-a-bitch to still have a massive amount of wavy silver grey hair on his head.
It was then that he glanced at his hairline and found a rogue tendril sneaking out from underneath the wig cap. Pushing the piece of hair back up where it belonged, he turned his attention back to the work at hand.
He reached across his vanity and lifted the wig from its stand, stood back, bent over, swooped the long hair on his head and with one spectacular move he flipped back upright snapping the hair up and over in a glorious cascade of hair styling amazingness. Looking back in the mirror, he took his time and smoothed down the sides of the wig, pushing a few pins up underneath it, making sure the seams were as flawless as he could get them. When he knew the piece was secure, he fluffed the length of bouncy blonde curls that looked like a waterfall of sunshine. When that task was finished, he turned his attention to the array of cosmetics.
French-manicured fingers laced with spectacular rings picked up brushes and sponges and got busy creating–
A dewy and evened-out skin tone
Sapphire and sky blue shadowed blackbird lined and mascaraed eyes.
Shimmering petal pink glorified gorgeous cheekbones.
And a luscious fuchsia rose irresistible kissable mouth.
Then she picked up a strand of flowers so mystical and vibrant she nearly succumbed to their intoxicating fragrances. As she sipped a Red Bull with one hand and wrapped the flowers around her head with the other, she felt all the powers of Mother Nature blooming as she stared in the mirror at her beautiful transformation.
With one last look to make sure everything was just as she wanted, she straightened the off the shoulder neckline of the flirty form-fitting pin-up style emerald green dress and then picked up another makeup brush to give her cleavage another dusting for good luck.
Finally, the work was complete.
Winter had turned into Spring.
Stepping into 4 inch sequined heels that pinched like mother-f-ers but looked amazing, she sucked up the pain, stood up straight and walked like a diva down the hallway, then stood at the door with one hand on the doorknob.
Her heart pounded.
Outside all of nature had gathered after a long, dark and quiet season. Their anticipation was palpable—the atmosphere was literally charged with excitement. Everyone knew the time had come.
Suddenly, they all turned their heads to look at the front porch where a devastatingly handsome red fox appeared standing on his hind legs with a microphone in his hand.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” the fox boomed into Nature’s sound system. The crowd went crazy.
“Please make some noise for her long-awaited return to the stage …give it up for Persephone, Queen of the Underworld!!”
The door opened and Persephone stepped outside.
She took the stage, held her arms out wide and beamed so brightly she lit up the sky.
And with that, all of the birds and animals and insects and trees and bushes and flowers and clouds and rocks and dirt and even the sun itself broke out into a round of thunderous applause as they caught the first glimpse of their Queen whom they had waited for for so long.
Then the music began–“All I Want to Do is Make Love to You’ by legendary rock goddess band Heart undulated from the speakers.
And the fabulously warm and effervescent manifestation of new beginnings, the Beautiful Persephone, lip synced and danced and flirted with her adoring subjects who happily soaked up her radiance while swaying like an ocean of snapping fingers, mixed drinks, dollar bills and laughter.
The mood in Punxsutawney was jubilant during the freezing cold moments before the sun was set to rise on the special day.
Revelers, wrapped in layers, their morning brews’ steam rising like white ribbons into the cold black sky, huddled together in frenziful anticipation.
“I think it’s going to be an early spring!” Walt Goodman of Steubenville said boisterously as he stood next to his wife Myrtle and their 2 children.
“Oh Walter,” his wife said, lightly punching him. “You always have such a head for knowing.”
Their kids took seconds away from their phone screens to roll their eyes.
The rest of the crowd chattered similarly as the line up of entertainment performed on a stage next to the ornately decorated sacred hole in the ground. A colonial drum line, a band of mimes, the Punxsutawney Elementary School’s 5th grade choir and the headliner–a Lee Greenwood impersonator from nearby Anita Pennsylvania.
As the last seconds of night ticked away, the sky over the party filled with fireworks. While the humans oohed and ahhed, every woodland creature within a 10 mile radius stirred in his or her sleep and then hunkered deeper down inside their burrows.
Except for one.
Phil finished brushing his giant buck teeth and then smiled in the mirror to see how he looked.
Awesome as usual.
He turned and pulled on his new military style jacket, applied a coating of Chapstick to his lips, slid on his John Lennon spectacles, and then headed to the door of his subterranean home.
This was it. His annual big moment. This year he was adding a little surprise for all the ding-dong humans who liked to pretend that he had any supernatural meteorological powers to predict the seasonal future.
Phil sighed, took one last gulp of his coffee, picked up the rolled-up poster board resting up against his dirt wall, and headed up the stairs.
He waited as he listened to the congregation of local officials making their speeches. Would it be 6 more weeks of winter? An early spring?
After Brother Carl of the Punxsutawney Baptist Tabernacle finished his prayer for warmer weather, the sun peeked over the horizon and Phil took his cue.
The crowd stood silent as he popped his groundhog head out. Usually the men grabbed him up and showed him off. But not this time.
Phil climbed out of the hole, stood up on his little groundhog legs, unraveled the poster board and held it up for all the crowd to see.
Punxsutawney Phil hoisted a homemade sign that read:
Love Trumps Hate
Flashbulbs went off by the millions as the celebrity critter flashed a toothy grin and the peace sign. News crews from all around the globe went crazy.
The gathered crowd cheered. A few of them booed.
And as Punxsutawney Phil rolled up his poster and headed back down into his home, hundreds of miles away in the nation’s capital, the president of the United States turned his attention away from his television screen and pressed his tiny finger once again against his well-worn Twitter app.
Melania blasted open the massive double doors with both hands, her long silken hair caught up like a TRESemmé cyclone in the wild breeze she kicked up. Then she took off walking, her 4-inch Louboutins clacking against the glittering-gold marble as she purposefully stomped down the corridor like a Victoria’s Secret angel working the wings and underpants catwalk.
When she got to the end of the hallway, she stopped and struck three poses in front of a mousy little receptionist watching her from behind a desk.
“Good morning, Mrs. Trump,” the girl said awkwardly as the statuesque woman shot her a bit of “Blue Steel”.
“Where is he?” Melania snapped.
“He’s in the cafeteria,” the mouse replied.
Melania took off again, using her signature walk, looking from side to side at the audience who wasn’t really there.
In the cafeteria, she found Donald sitting in a booster seat wearing a bib. He looked very disgruntled, with liquid all over his chin and his lower lip sticking out in a pout that could be seen from outer space. A sippy cup with a big blue bird on it sat tumbled over on its side nearby.
“Donald is having a bad day,” the headmistress said with a worn out I’ve-totally-had-it-up-to-here-with-this-shit look on her face.
“He pushed over a bunch of his playmates on the playground, he wouldn’t share during share time, he kept yelling WRONG at his teacher during circle time, and now he won’t drink his special drink,” she explained.
Melania looked at her husband disapprovingly and then sat next to him as the frazzled lady walked away for a moment’s peace.
“Donald,” she said as he looked at her. “Why are you being so especially bad today. And why do you not dreenk your Tweetter elixir?”
“It’s yucky,” he said, making a yucky face.
Melania sighed. This again.
“Of course it’s yucky, darling,” she explained. “It’s yucky because it helps you say all da yucky things you say on da Tweeter all da time dat your fans love so much.”
Donald hunkered down in his chair and moved his head back and forth over and over again, not wanting to hear her.
Melania knew exactly how to handle this.
“Leesten to me, little man,” she said, taking hold of his moist chin with her hand and making him look at her.
“You dreenk dis Tweeter juice and I will let you have sleepover with Vladimir.”
Donald rolled the idea around in his head.
“No,” he said defiantly.
Melania squinted her squinty eyes.
“How about sleepover with Vladimir and Uncle Ted?”
Donald sniffled thinking about it.
“No,” he said again.
“You drive hard bargain,” she told him tapping her talons on the tabletop. “You dreenk your Tweeter juice and I will let you have Vladimir, Uncle Ted and da Chachi boy over for a whole weekend.”
Donald’s face grew solemn while he thought about that.
“Okay,” he finally said, snapping up the toppled cup, placing it in his mouth and sucking eagerly.
Pleased with herself, she stood up, kissed him on the flossy head and headed out of the cafeteria. When she passed the headmistress, she gave thumbs up as they both heard Donald emit a belch so loud it shook the walls of the building.
Melania sashayed away, slid on her sunglasses, pushed open the massive double doors once again and stepped out into the bright orange sunlight.
“Same sheeet, deeferent day,” she sighed.
Sometimes I write tiny stories.
Here’s my latest:
“Darling, roll over,” Melania said softly to the giant orb of flesh topped with a pop of silky wheat floss on his head lightly emerging from his slumber next to her in their fur-covered, diamond-encrusted, Tsar-sized, Tempur-pedic bed.
“But I don’ wanna…,” the grown man slobbered, rolling anyway, as if to get away from a mother trying to wake a child to get ready for school.
Melania sighed as she pulled the heavy blankets away to look at the exposed ass cheeks of her beloved.
“Look at dees badonka-donk,” she muttered to herself.
“At least dees makes my job easy,” she added turning away to pull the syringe from the bottle labelled “Big Mean Baby Man Potion”.
Turning back to his buttocks, she sank the needle deep into his flesh and pressed the plunger all the way down.
The mountain barely flinched before emitting a thunderous gastronomical explosion.
Melania put the syringe back on the nightstand, sat up and looked at the sun trying to peek past the blinds.
“Same sheeet, deeferent day,” she sighed.
Hi there. And welcome.
You’ve gone and stumbled upon what I like to call “my new blog”.
I used to have a blog I loved writing not too long ago. I had to give it up, though, because we got a new puppy last February, and let me tell you–my life turned upside down when we brought her home. After having our old dog (she passed away) for so long, who was a complete gem and totally easy to care for, having a puppy in the house again was rather overwhelming. I was frustrated a lot by all of my free time things I liked to do–blogging being one of them–having to go by the wayside in exchange for puppyhood antics and basic training.
But give my hobbies up I did. I’m happy to report that puppy has turned 1 and life in our home has settled considerably and things have kinda gone back to normal.
So now I’m back and ready to write stuff I have no idea anybody besides me will care too much about.
But let’s give it another whirl, shall we?
Here’s a fun twist. Along with my new calmer life and fresh start to my blogging career, I am adding the fun-filled event of turning 50 years old to my line up of things to do this year.
You heard me right–50.
I am a Summer of Love baby (hence the blog name). I dig that about myself. But now here I am, getting ready to click over to an age that kinda freaks me out. I’ve never been freaked out by aging before now. In fact, I love my birthday. I love all birthdays. After we meet, I will remember your birthday way before I remember your name. I like to make big whoop-dee-doos over birthdays.
This one I find myself dreaded months way ahead.
Friends and family I’ve discussed this with blow off my apprehension and tell me–Oh, you’re young!! Well, okay…I know I’m not like 90 or anything, but I still feel like 50 is a number to be reckoned with. You can’t really claim being “young” anymore after you’ve hit the big 5-0. And, truth be told, my body is starting to pull shit on me. Painful heel, knee twinges, backaches. That kind of stuff.
Let me tell you a story real quick:
This past Saturday I went shopping and as I made my way into Macy’s, my shoelaces weren’t tied very tight and my (painful) heels were slipping around in my shoes. I found myself thinking–I hope when I get in this place there’s somewhere I can sit so I can retie my shoes.
I’ve never had to consider pre-planned sitting before. I mean, not for myself at least. And don’t you know, there was nowhere to sit inside the store doors. So I thought-screw it…I’m going to bend down and tie these shoes. I can do it!
There was an older lady standing there putting on her coat and gloves and scarf. I thought, okay–if I get stuck on the floor she can help me. So I crouched and started untying and retying. It took some effort on my part, but I did it. Then I was off and shopping and it all worked out okay.
But what the hell was that?!
I’ll tell you what that was.
That was me…hot on the heels of 50.
So yeh. These are the kinds of stories I plan on telling here.
Admit it.. you’re hooked, aren’t you.
If you’re not totally convinced yet, here’s a little more insight about me and the kind of stuff you might find me discussing here…
I made my career out of being a stay-at-home mom with our 2 kids. We homeschooled with the exception of the one year our son attended kindergarten. After that, we took off on our own. Those were some great-ass years. I was a really good mom. I still am, I guess, but the kids are grown now. They only need me here and there, and that’s good–the way it should be, you know? Hubby of 100 years and I are now empty-nesters. We own a small business we started on a shoestring. My husband runs that operation with some help from me. It’s just the two of us and has been for the past 14 years. We’ve lived in our house, which is tiny and adorable and really fun to redecorate and keep uncommonly immaculate now that there are no children around, for the past 24 years. We have pets I will more than likely mention way more than most people might enjoy. But what can I say, we think those furballs are the shit. My husband is a guitar player. I like to think someday I’ll write something good enough to make it on to a bookstore shelf. I’m covered in tattoos, love clothes and music and books and am hellbent on feeling as young as I can for as long as I can.
Which brings us back to that whole turning 50 thing. Remember?
I definitely remember.
All right. If you’ve read this whole thing I’d like to say thank you. Come back again if you want. Say hi.
I’m going to go fill up my coffee cup again and take a cruise around to see if I can find some interesting other blogs to read.
It feels good to be back. 🙂
Til next time, please enjoy this rockin’ tune–the Doors’ mega-hit that was #1 song on the charts the day I was born.
Pretty appropriate for a Summer of Love baby, don’t you think?