Christmas Magic

Maybe Christmas was magic for me as a child because I believed in magic. I believed in Santa Claus, I believed in God (and a nice God at that.... ), I believed that families are forever. I also think that as a child without responsibility that I was also without the awareness that I would grow old, my parents would grow apart, my childhood home would be sold and grandparents would die. But even back in the days of my youth Christmas came with a goodly amount of stress. Would this be the year that I couldn't hold it together long enough to earn my presents? Would Santa's elves catch me misbehaving?
Would I pad out to the living room in my pjs and slippers to find nothing but an empty limp stocking with my name on it? Would I end up in the school presentation of The Nutcracker as a dancing flower with a stupid paper plate flower on my head instead of one of the veil dancers with flowing yards of beautiful silk? Would my bootie of presents look paltry next to the stereos, video games, designer wardrobes, skis and other grand and expensive gifts of my more financially fortunate friends?

Let's just say that this year I will have no Christmas tree, no pile o' presents, no carols, no Santa and above all... no stress. I am looking forward to Christmas. Not for the day or even the memories of Christmas's past. I am looking forward to December 25 for the sheer reason that I will be at home in Tucson with my sweet boy, my sweet sister and my sweet nephew. We will kick back, relax, swim in the pool, lounge in the hot tub, play with the baby, grill some steaks, drink wine, watch movies, laugh, paint, sculpt etc. We will do anything we want to do (without the fear of peeping elves taking notes) and nothing that we don't! And that, is magical!

Miss Hickory

One of my favorite books as a child was Miss Hickory. Miss Hickory was a doll made from an apple tree branch and who had a hickory nut for a head. Miss Hickory accidentally gets left behind when her family goes traveling. She was forced to fend for herself in a bunch of creative little ways. I was entranced by her creating canning jars out of hollow acorn nuts, clothing from birch bark, shoes from lady slipper flowers. She had a magical, although usually solitary, little life and met her fate when a no-good squirrel friend of hers (who hadn't worked to shore up food for winter) eats her head.

I must have read that book a dozen times! It fit right in with my own original fantasies of being very small and living in fabulous bush apartments that I would create with large leaves, empty seed pods, nutshells and flower petals. I think I always used fragrant and velvety soft rose petals as blankets. And it was always a bonus if I could find a milkweed pod, ripe and full of white silky down. I think the world would be a much better place if we were all just 2 inches high. Yep, that is how I would solve all the problems today, shrink everyone down to about 2 inches high.

Just in case...

If I lost my job, had no family or future, I know what I would do. I would live in the back hallways, kitchens and service corriders of a large hotel. Even better would be a mega hotel/casino in Las Vegas. The Riviera is perfect. It is pretty old and has many weird little hallways and rooms and storage areas that are never used. I have even found a hidden little room in the seldom-used mirrored window ballroom overlook. All you would need is a cheap polyester suit, white shirt and a name badge. Everyone would think you were one of the bazillion minions that cook, serve and clean the hotels. You would have access to all the leftover food for the taking.... fresh from the stainless steel Queen Mary carts. And after a party or event there is always a plentitude of wine and spirits left over.... whether it is still pristine from the bottle or pre-tasted and waiting in a goblet rimmed in lipstick.
That is my contingency plan in a nutshell.

I will have my OWN art party!

I felt left out......

PC Ruin "Runs"Rampant

Ok, I am sitting (literally sitting on the floor.... no seats available) in the Phoenix airport waiting for a delayed flight to Dallas (ug!) and I just looked up at the television monitor and saw a visual blurb about a legless football player. Now I believe in following your dreams and all. I also believe in the amazing adaptability of human beings in the face of limiting situations. I also believe that it is an imposition to the rest of the players to allow a legless person to participate in the game of football (I mean ... shouldn't you at least HAVE a foot in order to play FOOTball? Ok, rude, but it had to be said). I feel that in all fairness to the rest of the participants that such an allowance ruins the very nature, spirit and objective of the game. Football is a full-contact sport. How is another player supposed to face this stump of an opponent? Cheer him on as he receives a hand-off and wobbles up the field running an impressive 4:33 40? By the way, that's 4 MINUTES 33 SECONDS! Pick him up and run him into the end-zone and then spike him on the ground? Either way the opposing players and even fellow teammates are prohibited from living up to their true athletic potential as either option leaves them feeling like a pathetic WWJD freak in the former posit or a total dick in the latter case.

By the way.... as an aside to the WWJD..... I hope he would grow the dude a couple of fucking new legs!

Dear Dr. Ruth

Dear Dr. Ruth,
Recently I was on vacation with my boyfriend in beautiful Kauai. We had had a marvelous day of strolling the beaches hand-in-hand, hiking the breath-taking views of Waimea and were preparing to go out for a romantic supper. Supper was postponed by spontaneous loving, the culmination of which was punctuated by my boyfriends empassioned gasp of "Wow! That's a cool house!" That is when I realized that he had been watching HG TV over my shoulder. So, now I am wondering Dr. Ruth. Is my boyfriend gay? Do I need to go through the house and throw out all the Dwell, Architectural Digest and Metropolitan Home magazines? What do I do to make myself attractive to him? Dress in expensive laminates? Lacquer my hair? Clothe myself in Scalamandre? I am so afraid that I might lose him to a smart pair of wall sconces or a sleek Delonghia espresso machine!

The gag reflex of muppets

So at the very least, odd dreams make for good blog material.

I dreamed that I was among a guided tour group that was walking along the wooden piers of some lakeside or seaside shore. The group consisted of about a dozen people and about a half-dozen muppets. Yeah muppets. Our guide had explicitly warned us not to stray from the group or go poking around due to the neighborhood harboring some characters of a dangerous and derelict nature. A fellow tourist and I fell behind the group and were "poking around" when I discovered a huge purple seashell. the shell was wedged in a back ally ditch and was the size of a vanity garbage pail. I could see the top few inner inches of pearly pink insides from my point of vantage. I reached in and pried it free. Upon looking inside I discovered, to my visual and olfactory dismay, that the beautiful shell was about half full of human feces. The "dangerous and derelict denizens" had been using the shell as a latrine. After fighting down the urge to vomit my buddy and I decided to play a prank. "Hey." I said. "Let's get a couple of the muppets to "discover" this. You know muppets can't vomit but they have a super sensitive gag reflex! It could be hilarious!" So we lured a couple of unsuspecting muppets over and led them to "find" the fabulous purple shell. The rest of the dream was of me and my partner in crime rolling on the ground laughing while the muppet victims hacked and retched dryly and violently at the shells contents.

Some dreams just don't mean jack do they?

Are you a good bum or a bad bum?

Last night I left the San Diego Convention Center late, around 11PM. I walked back to the hotel down the picturesque streets of the Gaslamp District. I popped into the 24hr Ralphs for some snacks and juice and immediately made accidental eye-contact with a bum.

Now some bums are obvious bums. They appear heavily accessorized with several hats, fingerless gloves, multi-layered clothing and shopping carts. Some bums are of the subtle variety. They appear normal, if sometimes a bit shabby, and only the creeping sense at the back of your head informs you of their true status.

This was the latter type. Dressed in an orange t-shirt, tidy dreds, backpack and jean shorts. He could have been one of the college guys just finished with his meal at Dick's Last Resort. But as soon as are eyes met I knew. And I knew he was not going to be easy to shake. He followed me around the store just shy of obvious stalking and when our proximity was inevitably achieved he started conversation. "How are you tonight?" "Are you from here?" "How long are you staying?" All the while I pretended to seriously contemplate the ingredients in a Naked Juice and tried to keep my answers light but not inviting further discourse. Eventually I had to pretend to espy a friend and walked briskly away from him. On my way back to the hotel I saw him further on down the street, making his way with a kind of crippled swaying progress. My heart gave a pang at the picture of this lonely soul without the resources I had been blessed with and wondered if I had made the right decision to blow off this person. But in recounting past experiences with the disenfranchised class that resulted in highly uncomfortable and often invasive predicaments I once again felt at peace. But how does one know the "good" from the "bad-if-only-in-the-smelly-stalking-trying-to-get-more" type? And is it really our responsibilty to help?

Home Sweet Home

Hey everyone... up the stairs by the big blue water tower is the place I have called home for nearly the last year. And just this week, I bought it. I am now the proud owner of an Ice House loft. My happiness is only diminished by the fact that said loft is currently a mess.....

Double Standards

When you live with another person you find it necessary to make certain concessions. You each bend and give and compromise on what goes where (coffee cups, bottom shelf) , what doesn't go there (toilet paper does not go on top of the fridge...) , and what just goes (I don't care if you made it in highschool metals class...). You also deal with different standards of cleanliness/neatness. One way I chose to deal with this was to "give up" the master bathroom to Manthing and claim the guest bathroom as my own. I let Manthing run his bathroom his way until it borders on third world levels of sanitation crisis. Recently before beginning a "bathroom reclaimation" I surveyed the scene: hairballs on the floor and in the shower, several newspapers and magazines in various degrees of water damage, daubs of hardened toothpaste, hair product and shaving gel dotting the counter, the flattened and empty carcasses of several travel-sized tubes of toothpaste, no less than three empty toilet paper rolls... and the one full one resting on the back of the toilet instead of the holder, and the toilet... the toilet.... what was growing in the toilet?

Anyway, after taking in all that I called my Manthing in.
Me- "Baby, just a question."
Manthing - "Yes?" (bracing himself)
Me- "If you checked into a hotel and found the bathroom like this, what would you do?"
Manthing - (looking sheepish) "I would call down to the front desk and raise holy hell."
Me- "Ok."


Somebody explain it to me please. I don't get it.