Donkey Hoedy

I must shamefully admit I have never read Don Quixote.  Cervantes' ingenious gentleman of La Mancha.  I have heard of Sancho Panza his dear neighbor and of course the futility of the windmills. 
I should at some point read this literary work of art.  Especially now that I know it isn't Donkey Hoedy the man with the Munchos.  As a small child a donkey named Hoedy who dined on Munchos while running down windmills sounded cool.  I wondered if he ate them before or after charging at windmills...actually windMEALS in mama speak.  I wondered if windmeals were restaurants where only donkeys could eat Munchos and how much they were charged for eating these Munchos.  Did the windmeals offer other stuff too?  Maybe Roman Meal bread, cornmeal pancakes?  What in fact was inside windmeals.  I thought they ground up meal or something with wind powered grinding wheels.  I started to wonder why donkeys would be allowed inside, but thought it nice they had a restaurant too. 
THEN I found out Donkey Hoedy was a guy who tried to joust windmeals!!!  I also heard he rode a donkey. 
I think maybe now I am finally mature enough to read Cervantes' work, to expand my mind and learn of Don Quixote, Sancho Panza and the quests that fueled his firey Spanish heart.
I'm not convinced his tale will be better than my idea of a donkey in a restaurant dining on Munchos however.

White Rabbit

One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small and ones that Mother gives you don't do anything at all......

Sometimes none of them seems like they do what they're supposed to do, or in fact do anything at all.  I have pain issues some of the time, ok all of the time.   I have some lovely prescriptions, lots of herbals (all legal, darnit!) vitamins and rubs.  Some days things are good and I'm almost a normal person.  Other days I'm like Oscar the Grouch (aside from the lovely colour, awesome hairdo, and private pad with pet), on those days I just want to hide in my trash can and tell the world to 'scram'!  Still other days I'm touchy and feel like I'm in a chrysalis, a crucible or a bell jar.  At any rate it feels like I'm moody and transitory.  There are days when I feel like a shiny rainbow bubble on the verge of breaking, absolute fragility, ephemeral. 

Somehow, nothing really changes and I'm still the same.  I have no trash can to escape to, no chrysalis for my change, no bell jar creating a vacuum around me, no crucible to hold me while I change, and my skin is thicker than a bubble.  Insomnia will not kill me.  The pain will not kill me, this weird and strangely shifting injury will not kill me.  It's all just what it is. 

It's thorny, painful, sharp, not good, kind of ugly and nothing anyone would want.....until I wake up and crawl from my bell jar, crucible, chrysalis or trash can, I won't see it at all.  When I finally emerge,  then I'll see it's a lovely rose of any color, I just couldn't see the flower for the thorns.

The caterpillar, the dormouse and Alice are an illusion, so is the transient relief from pills.  Insomnia can be so unfair; at least it proves I'm alive.

Today is a thorny day...but I'm seeking the rose.

If an idiot speaks in an empty room, do they still sound dumb?

I've noticed over the years as I've changed, that my tolerance for idiocy has also changed.
In some ways I'm much more tolerant now. I sometimes won't even make fun of the idiot. If it's physical idiocy, I'm more likely to be tolerant.  I often walk in circles and do other strange or idiotic things, such as wear socks as sleeves or Halloween tattoo sleeves to cover my forearms (laugh if you must, but it helps with hypersensitivity) I tend to be more understanding of what could be idiotic.  I still can't get behind someone who doesn't appear to own a mirror or have one single friend to be honest enough with them to flat out tell them "you look like an idiot".
I will be that friend to you now.....if you are reading this blog, with a whale-tail, butt-floss, thong (whatever) hanging out of your pants, with a beyond the muffin-top multi-tiered cake hanging over the front of said (sad) pants, and your shirt (Omg!, that's a tunic??) is riding high on the crest of belly that your boobs are using to prop themselves up on.....you look like an idiot, go immediately and change to some properly sized clothes now.  If you have chosen to shave off your eye-brows then stencil them on to look posh..you look like an idiot.
If it's just plain idiocy....I'm working on it. I try, I really, really try to ignore as many idiots and as much pure idiocy as I can.  I know that some people honestly don't know they are idiots.  I can assure you when I find out how big of an idiot I am I will feel like a real idiot!
Until I find out how dumb I am, (should happen soon now, my son is 13) I am going to be your friend and tell you when you are an idiot.  (I've done some of these things)  If you are reading this blog and using the disc drive on your computer for anything other than discs you are a very impressionable idiot.  The stupid drink holder thing has been out at least 10 years now.  If you believe your son when he tells you he showered, yet he still smells like butt, you are an idiot.  If you set your hair on fire with birthday cake candles you are an idiot.  If you drop furniture on yourself you are an idiot, but really know how to pass the time.  If you believe that the prince of ANY nation must contact you for help paying fees or smuggling money, will you send me $10,000 cash and I'll give you a personal check for $25,000?  If you continue to receive the same answer to a question, yet you continue to ask it you MIGHT be an idiot...or perhaps the person to which the query is placed is the idiot...rest assured one of you is an idiot.
Did that sound dumb???

Complicated lives.....32

A gift of .......love???  Also known as wtf did I do wrong?!
One year my sister came to visit the steamy, sultry, palmetto bug infested south.  Poor deluded dear had visions of crepe myrtles, azaleas, honeysuckle, Spanish moss, lovely lush greenery, plantations, the genteel south, Tara, Twelve Oaks, Scarlett, Ashley and Rhett.  Possibly Mammy and Prissy too.
What she got was mosquito bites, some honeysuckle, fireants a hideous sunburn (I think) met our odd friends, learned that men dressed in kilts should NOT sit on the side wall of a pick-up while the girls sit in the bed of it.  One is left at eye level to a rather disturbing array of penii. New word??  We did this whole medieval re-enactment thing.  My husband does NOT wear a skirt as a matter of course.  I vouch not for the rest of the guys....but they were all fairly normal...I digress..
Since we weren't raised together...thank heavens...our poor Grand Parents would have long been insane, I'm sure we'd have been arrested, or deported.  I bet we would have figured out how to be trashy. I bet she knew you could use vaseline for shiny lips.  I could only figure out baby oil and that tasted funny.  Again off topic.  Since we weren't raised together we didn't have any chances to give our poor Mom sister gifts.  Things we had made ourselves in school or created in a bedroom closet from dryer lint, pipe cleaners, gum and pencil shavings. 
We went with our first "true" sister gift in the summer of 95. 
There were these odd booths popping up all over malls everywhere.  Record yourself!  Be a recording star!!  My sister and I are NOT musically inclined, especially when laughing.  We put in our $5 and found out we got to record 2 whole songs!  We dragged my husband in for the first one and sung/spoke/shouted/laughed "achy breaky heart"  the music was barely perceptible as was Mr Cyrus himself.  The words flashed rapid fire on a karaoke screen, they lit up just BEFORE you were supposed to sing them.  We were about 3 beats ahead.  For the second and heartfelt song we sung "wind beneath my wings" wow.  Mom must have thanked her lucky stars that year!  I'm sure that she kept such an amazingly great recording for YEARS.  I hope we never inherit it.
Oh youyouyouyou, you are the wind beneath my wings...highhighhigh! 

Complicated Lives.....part 31

Should old acquaintance be fergot and days of Auld Lang Syne...or something like that

The first time I heard that people did weird things to celebrate the New Year I was 16 and was totally shocked. Seemingly normal friends would go outside in Chicago banging pots and pans at midnight. I thought this was totally radical and quite daring. Perhaps some quirky German thing? (the friends were German)

In later years I learned that people shot guns up in to the air to celebrate the New Year.

As a small child...birth to 15 I only knew of one tradition...Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve!!

Each year we gathered around the 25" black and white console with the rabbit ears to watch one of 3 tv stations...whichever one had the Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve!! special on. It never occurred to me that NY was EST and FL was CST. Each year I watched that apple go down on the count of 10 during the Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve!! special, I never realized I wasn't actually staying awake for the 'real' new year.

After Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve!! I would go hatefully off to bed pondering my world and wondering if this was the year I would at long last attain trashiness. I would hear lovely "fire crackers" in the distance and fall sound asleep. Sometimes I would hear a loud truck or 10 go down the dirt road to the park. I would hear hollering and screaming...lots more "fire crackers" sometimes an ambulance siren or police siren...never could tell them apart since we rarely heard them in our town...at least I didn't. I just assumed someone had blown up a can with "fire crackers" after watching Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve!! and gotten hurt or something.

I didn't realize until...ummm recently (now) that those were NOT fire crackers!! I am sure Mama never intended to mislead me. Did she?? Was she holding out on more fun in addition to trashiness??? Did he know they were using cherry bombs?? Just kidding! I know now, that those were happy/drunk rednecks shooting guns, drunk driving at the park and getting up to all sorts of lovely mischief. While I was tucked safely in bed listening to "fire crackers" and the strains of a Shaun Cassidy song in my head from Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve!! My neighbors were having a thrill a minute shooting guns off around bonfires, with beer, song, dancing, driving...etc

Oh to be young and trashy for just one night!!

I guess it's all in perception, one little girl's fire crackers and Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve!! is another little girl's uncle/daddy shooting a gun and drinking beer while driving and listening to the radio...

sweet sweet perception

And yes I do know the words to the song ;-)

Trying again for the rapture

Technically I guess this year isn't supposed to be "the rapture"  it's only supposed to be the end of the world.
My plan is to do crazy crap near the supposed date of the end of the world.  If the world doesn't end at the appointed time I suppose I'll just refer any pursuing law enforcement departments or creditors to the Mayans.
I could always claim hysteria, or mania...whatever it is that overcomes people when they are told death is imminent.  Although writing this could be classified as premeditated naughtiness, or mischievousness. 
I am hoping that if the world does decide to end, that my son stops whining, griping, sassing and trying to drive me insane.   Since we'll all either be floating in rapture or hanging in limbo he won't have any reason to gripe will he?  Maybe something about "how long is the world ending supposed to last?", or "when is the rapture?"  Just in case It's only the end of the world and not the rapture, I guess I should have a snack ready.
Oh well happy belated 2012...hopefully a happy 2013 will follow...if not, just think of all the bills we'll be dodging!!