Fragile! Handle with Caution...

I am reminded today of how fragile life is. 11 years ago many of us were mourning the tragic loss of Kasey Overton in a car accident. A year later the loss of my mother knocked my train of it's track for nearly a decade, I think I am just now starting to drive my own train again. As the years have gone by more and more friends lost and buried...I can remember how shocking death seemed when I was a child and teenager, now it only leaves me with a sad aching reminder of how limited our time is here on this Earth and the absolute need to make the most of it. Autumn always brings bittersweet memories to me. Perhaps it's watching the the leaves die and fly away, and the magical way the earth creates it's own little temporary grave for the season.

Leaves crunching under my feet, and the brisk breezes that whip around me this time of year always seem to give me the strange need to take stock of my life, where it is going? What am I doing to better it?  Many of my major life changing events occurred in Autumn. I didn't really realize how many until I started writing this. Engagement...pregnancies...nervous breakdown...divorce...  And here I am today once again preparing for a life changing event, moving. A decision that was hard, scary and exciting.

So as Mother Earth packs up her treasures and tucks them away till Spring, I am packing up my meager belongings (I like meager...Live Simply, Simply Live) to start over once again, with a thankful heart that I have been given another day to enjoy my life and love my loved ones. Hold your loved ones tightly, show your friends they are treasured, and pray for your enemies...life is far too fragile for any less. 

I could name them all, but it would take too long...the list of people on my heart today who I will never wrap my arms around again is long and tragic...

The Lesson...beware of Obsession!

I have been meaning to write about my FANFUCKINGTASTIC experience at the Blue October concert. It was amazing, fun, life changing, tear jerking, and an all around soulful experience. Only true music lovers with a passion for certain artists's own passions would understand what I mean by that. Blue October is not a band meant only to entertain. It's a continuing story of survival by a man, Justin Furstenfeld, who suffers many of the same mental struggles as I do. So many identify with his words, as they speak for us and give us a face, without shame, showing our weaknesses and our strengths. They are also a great example of being pro-active about your mental health. There are no hidden "excuses" when Justin needs inpatient treatment for manic OR depressive issues. No shows are canceled for "exhaustion" or "illness". If he had to get help...he's is not afraid to say it! For this I ADORE them...it is perhaps somewhat of an obsession. But I am allowed a few obsessions, I am crazy too after all.

The purpose of this post is to list the lessons I learned from the show Saturday Night. While my heart was ripped from my chest and cheers and tears filled the night...this list is NOT what you might think it is about. As my BFF Missy and I arrived there were quick lessons to be learned on how to conduct yourself while standing (for 5 hours) on the floor, close to the stage, basking in the light that is Blue October:

Jada Learned:

1. Arrive EARLY...
2. Ignore your age...yes the pretty little giggly teeny boppers make you feel like a rusty old truck, but the event probably holds far more meaning to you, so fuck em..
3. Take Drugs! A handful of Ibuprofen, a few Tylenol and smuggle a few more in your pocket for good measure. Your back, legs and feet will quickly REMIND you of your age far quicker than those teeny bobbers.
4. Get dehydrated. You are not going to risk loosing your spot to pee...so if you are already dehydrated when you go in, you're good to go. You can grab a Gatoraide on your way out the door. Suck it up!
5. Stand Your Ground! Which leads me to the next important list.

To those of you surrounding Jada and Missy:

1. Don't even try it kid! When the crowd starts to get thick and you skinny little girls try to get to the stage to get close to Justin, back off! In the words of Missy to one such little bitch: "It ain't happening so keep on movin!" We will not budge from our prime spot so you can giggle at his "hotness" We didn't buy these tickets at the box office, we bought them the day they went on sale! We mean business!
2. Don't heckle the Artists! After many polite attempts from others to sshh a drunken ass from heckling the opening act I had enough. My politeness only goes so far. "Would you SHUT THE FUCK UP?!" just loudly flew out of my mouth without a thought...met with cheers by other fed up fans. (Tourettes maybe?)
3. Do NOT grab Missy to move her!  This was the funniest moment of all...some chick grabbed Missy by the shoulder, arrogantly saying "Ya, I'm that girl" (you know the ones who will stop at nothing to get to the front) Missy promptly shoved her back and informed her "Not tonight you're not!"
4. We Love fellow obsessed fans! Even if you are a pretty little teenager. You can tell a true "Blue" fan. One who is moved to tears with you, connecting with the music and poetry. After getting to know one such young woman before the show, I helped shove her to the very front, at her very first show so Justin could reach her hand! The most touching part was that she ran to Missy and I for hugs of happiness, before she ran to her friends. A kindred spirit indeed. <3

 

 

While it took us 15 minutes of sitting in the car to feel our legs again...a night like that with my most kindred spirit and best friend are memories I will always treasure! All lessons aside, the greatest lesson of all was love. The concert was a gift from Missy for my birthday!! She bought them at the end of July just in time for my birthday in August. I love love love her!

Ulcers and Angels...The Soundtrack of Romantic Fatigue

If you enjoy the tunage of And We All Shine On  then perhaps you have heard song #19 by Frank Turner Romantic Fatigue....

Oh how I have been there! While a humorous song, it is a well known condition for a writer. A lover finds a collection of your writing...and there in your own hand are confessions of love and devotion. Smart writers don't date such poems...so when we are asked we can look you in the eye and smile "Of course darling, I wrote this about you just the other day" We are lying, we wrote it ages ago for someone who for a moment took our breath away and then choked the living shit out our desire to breath...or vice versa.

I am suffering from Romantic Fatigue, as Frank so cleverly puts it.

I sometimes fear I am no longer capable of love, or that the one that I would love is never to be found, has already slipped through my fingers or died a horrible death of some mysterious disease or is being held captive by the Columbian Mafia for writing derogatory poetry about cocaine...Yes, the more dramatic the excuse, the easier it is to reconcile myself to...

The song Bubble Toes by Jack Johnson (also on this playlist...#29) has always been a favorite of mine. If a man felt that much for me I think I could write poetry about him daily, eager and hungry for more and more words to express my love....

Alas...there are only stacks of old poems written about past loves, lovers, or would be lovers. My poetry website is full of such poems. Now, mind you, I am not a gushy writer...my affection for you might be compared to an ulcer on a bleeding heart or some other strangely endearing analogy...what can I say, I am just not a rainbows and roses kinda gal.

Maybe I am not meant to love again. Maybe I don't know how. Maybe I forfeited my chance. Or maybe someday Mr. Bubble Toes will sweep me off my feet. Heaven help him when he does. Long jaded and brutally honest...there will be no hesitation in responding, in the words of the great Frank Turner..."I didn't write this one for you..."

For now it seems these words  hold even truer from dear Frank:
Every life-long-love, and every best friend, slips away into the past.
Take my words with caution, I can't pretend that you're the first.
You won't be the last.



But secretly I hold to the hope that someday Mr. Bubble Toes can honestly say "She gives me presents, With her presence alone" (refer to song #17) And then I can finally celebrate song #3...

But again a brutally honest woman herself Ani speaks the truth "No one's gonna sympathize when we crash, you hit what you head for, you get what you ask..." 

 However song #24 would grant my heart and soul to the person who truly fit the description...however my playlist only seems to play a blip of the song, so now you sorry bastards will have to YouTube that, or are already fanfuckingtastically awesome and know every word to that song and understand what it means to want a Quiet Mind.

Until then I shall try not to song # 20, especially by means of song #1. I shall try to loose the #34 attitude, and if song #7 occurs, refer to song #11 and then remember #8 because even though #22 seems mostly impossible for me...ya'll are fuckin' AWESOME!! 

If you finished this entire post...you either have a lot of time on your hands or you may need professional help. It's certifiably insane....but I just felt like writing it. My apologies...thus refer to song #10!

UPDATE  August 29, 2013:  Mr. Bubble Toes and I are still together and madly in love. I have found my soul mate. Forever.

Jesus Wouldn't Like It...

Since my children were old enough to stare at the talking box their father and I have tried very hard to shelter them from excessive violence, disturbing images, even commercials...cause lets face it, the little fuckers behind all that advertising know our little angels will pester the ever living SHIT out of us until they get their Cookie Crisp.

Despite our best efforts, alas they are getting to an age where we simply try to keep them from killing each other, or at the least, bleeding on the carpet. (Yes, I jest...sorta) They truly are very loving to each other, however I have come to the conclusion becoming accustomed to violence is inevitable. Bubby has just come home from his PSR class (Weekly Catholic tutoring, required to belong to the church, even if you are just a child...more on that later, my son loves it so it's cool, whatever). Anyhoo...Bubby is telling Boo about the most exciting movie he watched at "religion" (our old fashioned slang for this weekly class)

"There was this little boy named David, and there was this big Giant named Goliath who was mean and killed everybody. The people were scared to fight him...the soldiers I mean...but David took a rock and put it in a sling shot and hit him in the head with it. It even STUCK in his head and blood was everywhere...it was so cool! And he was just little like us!"

Boo's response to this is "Mom am I big enough to kill somebody?"

Sigh...."I'm sure you are son, but I really hope you don't. ...... Jesus wouldn't like it."

Whatta ya gonna do??

Territorial Pissings and Interventions

Do you ever get that feeling people are watching you, talking about you, whispers in the corners of the rooms? Paranoia one might call it...but if it's true, is it really paranoia? As the song says just because you're paranoid don't mean they're not after you...I am having my own Nirvana moment about that. If that sentence doesn't make sense to you, your musical tastes suck, anyhoo...

Some of my friends are starting to show signs of this watching and whispering. I try to remember that they only have my best interest at heart and shouldn't feel uncomfortable with this. I have a great group of close friends, a small group, but a safe and trustworthy group who love me, watch out for me and kick my ass whenever necessary. The latter happens more often than I prefer, but perhaps if I could keep my act together it would not be necessary. I think I have figured out their worry. And need to find a polite way to tell them I am ok. The pending intervention is completely unnecessary...just pay my cable bill for me!! See I have no TV...and currently no good book to read, and am currently stuck inside with a sick child...so YUP, thanks to technology and mobile devices I have become one of THEM.....A Facebook Junkie! *Insert Musical Interlude....Us and Them ~ Pink Floyd*

I am sure it's just a phase, I will grow out of it. If Dr. Phil shows up at my door I am shooting someone. Just sayin'...

Slacker...Opa!

I have some tattoo's scheduled soon (we shall call them gifts, as they are costing me nil, so no cracks about wasting money...until later in the post!) I really think I should rearrange all my plans and have SLACKER tattooed somewhere very visible, but tasteful. You know, like perhaps across my knuckles with an exclamation point at the end! Yes I have thought far enough ahead to figure out the logistics of digits.

See I am that woman whose house is always a wreck, the Mom that always forgets to return the book order forms, and the field trip paper, and the holiday candy, and the library books. I will just go ahead and admit it, because everyone knows it's true. If you have ever visited my house unannounced you know that the dishes are always piled up, toys are everywhere, laundry either needs washed, folded or both...I am a slacker!

Today I set out to scrub this house. Since I have been single it has gotten out of control. At least when I was married I had a grown up in the house to answer to, to some extent. (Maybe I need to hire someone to give a shit, pay them to come in and point out how ridiculous this really is!) Perhaps I have just reverted back to my teenage years. It happens...

So I am washing the dishes, as there is not a single clean dish in the house, all the while thinking "I am never letting this happen again" "This is ridiculous" "Uggh I hate dishes". Finally I have come up with a brilliant plan! It will work! And it will end this awful habit of mine. I am throwing out the dishes! I shall make a party out of it, invite all my friends and dirty them up with some yummy Greek food and cry out "Opa!" as we toss them outside against the barn!

That's why God made paper plates right...and plastic cutlery, disposable containers, plastic bags?...I just attained the Carbon Footprint of Bigfoot! My feet are pretty big already...shit.

Squeaky Karma

Warning: I am staring at this screen blurry eyed, desperately needing sleep but have to give a sick Boo a breathing treatment in 45 mintues and lets face it being woke after just falling asleep only 45 minutes into that beautiful oblivion is like Ed McMahon showing up and saying "Ooops wrong house!" And I swear it is a holiday by sleep fairies everywhere. Their version of April fools, which I am convinced happens far more than once a year...tiny fairies have tiny calenders.

What was I gonna write about again? Ah that good old saying "when it rains it pours"...doesn't that generally always seem to hold true? Maybe not if you are a meteorologist, but for just us average everyday Joe's? This weekend brought illness to me, major relationship changes, a wee bit of fun, and devastating news about my Father and now a very sick little boy...Oh and it rained...a lot! Do you suppose there is some sort of magnetic Karma that piles up somewhere then shoots like a cannon ball right in your naked lap? Because I seem to have a domino effect happen often!

And since I dragged Karma into the convo, WHAT THE HELL?! Really...who did I hurt recently. Pissing people off should not count as a karma issue right? Technically people choose how they are going to behave about something, so if you are pissed off at me, especially without just cause, that really shouldn't add to the bad Karma right? I never set out to anger anyone, it happens, but never intentionally. I do not like drama, nor can I tolerate much of it in my life. So really, what the fuck?

In addition to finding out what the strange squeaking noise I hear every few seconds somewhere in this house (auditory hallucinations perhaps?) I am trying to figure how things got so fucked up in the last 3 days? I would just throw in the towel, but I FINALLY did the laundry and really don't feel like sullying one at the moment....

This blog really wasn't meant to be all that funny or interesting, mostly a means to keep me awake but it only took 5min so I will have to find amusement elsewhere, but I am pleased to note that either the cat and I are both crazy or there really is a strange noise in this house tonight....
Signing Off As ~ Delirious

Stripping for Heroin

WTF is with the new Facebook change? I can't be the only one feeling like someone took my comfy house slippers away and slapped a pair of stripper heels on me! Stumbling around, tripping, angry that I can't maneuver in a normal way, wishing I was making more money for baring my body for a bunch drooling college boys...er...um ya, that one got away from me. I do that, you'll get used to it.

I have tried every suggestion, signed the petition (as if Mark Zuckerman can hear anything with all that cash stuffed in his ears), and bitched and moaned. *Sigh* I suppose we will all get used to it...we will have to. It's the price we pay for drinking the Kool Aid. If I thought I could survive without social networking I would just remove my account. But taking heroin away from a junkie is never pretty, even if it is crap smack! Off to shoot up...maybe that's why I am stripping, to pay for my nasty habit!

Cowboy Up

My Grandma Wolf gave birth to 9 children, 8 of them boys. One she lost as a toddler to some sort of fatal fever, as was all too common in the pre-WWII years. And when my Pappy went away for four years to fight in the Pacific she was on her own raising three small children. I am certain 4 boys in little over 4 years was not a surprising event in the late 1930's...but I am quickly finding that 2 boys less than 2 years apart is a hair pulling challenge at times. I find myself talking to my Grandma often, either silently or even out loud, mostly in terms of "How the hell did you do all this?" or "Really? Does poop ever become 'unfascinating'?" and most commonly I hear myself saying "Help me do this right..." Grandma wasn't perfect, but she did it right. To this day she is revered and honored by the Wolf family as our Matriarchal Saint. While Pappy contributed his dutiful share, Mammy Wolf went above and beyond, and in this little girl's eyes she was an angel. I have never heard a higher compliment than the times I have been told I am like my Grandma when it comes to my parenting. Granted that comes with some hollerin' and a swat on the butt now and then...but that just comes along with my hillbilly DNA, no matter how peace loving my hippie soul is...

This brings me to the present. I am now a single Mom sharing custody of a 5yr old and a 7yr old. We shall call them Boo and Bubby as they have actually been carrying those nicknames since they were born. (poor Boo had to answer to BooBoo for many years, but we've since given him a more dignified name...just Boo!) My boys are the stereotypical farm boys, trucks, tractors, mud and mess...and despite my distaste for violence they are fascinated with cowboys. 8 Seconds and Young Guns II are big faves around here. I gave up on sheltering from the old west violence, it's far better than modern machine gun, serial killer, psycho with a chain saw violence they would see in many of today's movies. And ya ya, there is the foul language. Well trust me it's nothing they haven't heard before...this is redneck territory, only "liberal" is a foul word around here.

So tonight my little cowboys put me through the rodeo. Bubby is in 2nd grade, and Mommy is in homework hell! Boo is in Kindergarten and he is in carrying only a tiny load of homework home. This is all very upsetting to Boo, who for two years has watched big brother carry home fun and exciting papers and books that had to be tended to every night. Now reality has sunk in...he is only 5. He can't do math, or read the "big book", or write spelling words every night. Here is where the HELL comes in for Mommy. Despite offering a number of distractions such as looking at a book, playing on the computer, coloring or practicing writing his name, Boo is insistent on interrupting big brother's homework time. Drama after drama...tonight the laundry list included "I have a scratch" "But I can't do that alone" "The computer is too hard (the kid has mastered it better than I!)" "My teacher threw my coloring paper away" "_________ (insert name) did _________ (insert offense) to me on the bus" "Nobody pays attention to me..." Blah blah diddy blah. All while I am trying to listen to required reading, dictate spelling, work on predicate use - -PREDICATES...in 2nd GRADE? WTH?--, and go over math twice since Bubby had some issues with today's 'in class' worksheet.

To say the least this evening bit the big one with an hour and a half of homework! I am sure one of the reasons I can't remember my mother (whom I lost 10yrs ago) helping me with homework is because I didn't HAVE ANY until I was old enough to tend to it myself. Unfortunately she too was a single mother, and my school work was rarely a priority for her, putting food on the table was. I am trying hard to be a more dutiful "student parent" than I was as a "student". I lucked out with a few extra brain cells that carried me through school with decent grades, but had I had the encouragement I am sure I would have been making straight A's. So I am working hard to pay attention to each detail of the boys' daily school happenings. Bubby is at an age where homework is still fun, and it's also quite fun to rub it in Boo's nose that he has GOBS of homework while Boo has next to none.  I have tried to assure them both that someday there will be nothing but bitching when it comes to homework time, but so far that is in one ear and out the other.

So while all this fun and exciting homework time is going down, Mom is dreaming of a good book in front of a roaring fire in a log cabin with a 2 feet of snow on the ground and hot coffee in my hand while getting a foot rub from my honey and perhaps getting distracted from my book....hmmm... sorry, got a little lost in my own world there for a moment. Anyhoo, in my frustration I found myself saying something to Boo that I think would have made my Grandma Wolf laugh. In exasperation I finally turn to my fussing Boo, acting like a 2 year old in his tall lanky 5yr old body and said:

"Son, you're just gonna have to Cowboy Up!" Between Grandma Wolf and my Mom I can faintly hear the chuckling in the distance...

P.S. as I wrapped this up I noticed it was way too quiet in the house, to my surprise the cowboys have put themselves to bed and have escaped to dreamland. I wonder if Boo's dreams are filled with the excitement of the Wild West, racing through the brush on his trusty stead outrunning the law with his clever Billy the Kid style....or the excitement of bringing home a butt load of homework for Mom to help him with...maybe a mix of both. Counting bullets perhaps??