The Path

Feb. 25th, 2009 12:10 pm
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One of the main reasons we got our property for so cheap was that a large power line was going to be strung right through the center of the property from corner to corner. After much investigating about things that happen to you when you live under power lines, we brought the property anyway because as it turns out I am actually living just as close to a power line where I am right now in suburbia than I will be on my own property.
Fifty acres is a lot of damn space as it turns out.

I also have a strange affection for the compelling swaths of open green fields under power lines with thick woods on either side that go and on for miles. I used to dream of packing a bag and walking along the grassy miles just to see where I ended up.

We heard from the neighbors they carved out the 150 foot easement so we drove up to take a look. We took the white dog with us for the first time up there. We just let him run.
I am not sure I have ever seen a dog so happy.

Now I will have my own grassy road right in the middle of my place, like my own personal freeway. Right now however it looks like a great monster plowed through leaving destruction in its wake.
I still want to follow it.


Feb. 13th, 2009 12:33 pm
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So - this is me giving up.
This year marks the 11th anniversary that I threw my contraceptives away in the trash with a big ta-da and followed with some uncoordinated dancing in the hallway.

That was a lifetime ago and if you had told me then I would be sitting here officially giving up on ever being somebody's parent well I would have harbored a serious skepticism. I mean I have already been through so much and managed to get out the other side after climbing through miles of metaphysical horseshit; I felt it was impossible that universe would lay THAT on me as well.

Recently after two full minutes of serious consideration of pulling a "Raising Arizona" on that low rent Jolie Octo-mom with the 14 kids, I have since decided to officially hang up the baby towel.

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I would like to present the short list of people I intended to marry when I was in the 5th grade:

Han Solo
Keith Moon
Chuck Barris
George Sanders
Steve Martin
Willy Wonka
Bill Daily (Roger from "I dream of Jeannie")
John Lennon
Jimmy Stewart
Salvador Dali
Mr. Spock
Linus Van Pelt
David Bowie

Considering the guy I am currently married to, I am trying to figure out who I got the closest to.
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I have started a new blog off LJ's golden shores.
I came across a scrapbook of my mother's full of nothing but valentine's day cards 60+ years old. So I am posting them one by one until I run out of cards or acerbic commentary.
Spread the word!
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The assistant lit several things, charcoal sparked and Frankincense sent ribbons of smoke spiraling up towards me. They stood me up and did strange and exotic things that I had no reference for. An odd wooden cross with lovely things dangling from it were shaken in front of me and I was entirely fascinated. The ordinary brown egg I had brought was then rubbed unbroken over every inch of my person while incantations were uttered. The egg was then broken into a glass of hot water and set aside.

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Saturday I watched a person who was a stranger to me rub an unbroken egg over the tops of my feet.

Let me back up.

I grew up in a terrible situation. When you have magical traumatic buttons like these installed deep in your personality no amount of therapy or meds or Jesus or clean living uninstalls them completely. The residue manifests itself in interesting ways - in my case I designed an entire creepy fairy land where my spectacular terrors manifest into large benign structures. My therapist told me once I should try and match each project up to each traumatic experience. I haven't done it yet, I would rather it be an epiphany to me while I am knee deep in concrete or bolting together the top of my geodesic dome.

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Before he whisked off to Vancouver however a few more precious gems fell from his lips.

"Those people were pretty nice considering they were Christian and all"

This was uttered to the people at the train depot museum, whom he had just met 15 minutes prior,
Commodore: “Let me see if I can buy you folks a railroad car to go on those empty tracks over there."
Person running the museum: "uh well, that would be very generous of you."
Commodore: "You would let me come and sit in it... right?"

Pronounced very loudly at a 4 star restaurant,
"This place is MUCH better than Taco Bell!"

Spoken to a French Waiter, "Can you bring my daughter here a Beefeater gin martini straight up with a lemon twist? We need to keep her on her toes. Also bring us some Molluscan Gastropoda and two spoons!"

Yelled into the phone, "What they don't understand is that I am a man with needs!"

"Your friends seemed relatively intelligent, but I am really amazed by their children."
me: "How so?"
"They owned such well mannered infants, there was no snot-nosed screaming and wailing like the horrid little street urchins that most children are..."

I don’t want to be called a diabetic, I prefer ‘Sugar Cripple.’

"You know the second I kissed her hand I could tell she used to be a man"
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There are a lot of personal areas in which I need work: I am a slob, I run my mouth too often and I hardly trust a soul not to plunge a knife into my back on a whim.
That being said my observational skills have always been excellent, although handy the skill has never served me in any meaningful or specific way - until now.

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One of my favorite blogs ever is Cake Wrecks which can always pry me out of the foulest mood I can muster.
My friend Diana sent me note congratulating me and lo and behold, my special cake wreck genius has been recognized!

Diana's magical rat head cake - recognize!
Happy New Year everybody!
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I picked my father up yesterday from the airport sporting a cane and an Indiana Jones hat. He complained that the doctor was making him carry a cane where ever he goes now. I wanted to remind him that he already owns an extensive collection of canes since he always had them as some kind of gesticulating device when I was growing up and the only difference between now and then is now they have become utilitarian and therefore suddenly annoying.

a list of direct quotes so far:

"Sarah can you look at my head, there is something going on back there..."

"People who do not properly edit books are a rash upon society"

"Why would someone want to smell like Jello?" (me)"That says 'fragrances by J-Lo' dad."

"Be honest, do you think black people are being nicer to me?"

leaning over a counter "This is a scam, like bottled water. I feel dirty just being in here. (me)"Dad could you please just let the man make my coffee?"

Who is Mrs. Susan Raspberry? (me)"I dont know why?" "She is stuck to my shoe."

Your brother has been writing smaller lately - do you think that effects his self esteem?"

Do you think (insert family name here)is having an affair? (me) uhh I don't think so why? "Well there was that guy who used come around and it was a little acey duecey no peeky nine card baseball crampa tampa 9s 7s and split berry kings wild."

*for the record I made him repeat that last one three times to make sure I had it right.
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Here is my website for custom Munny ordering that shows my work so far:

I am not limited to Munnys, I am perfectly willing to customize Dunnys, Qees, Señor Blancos, even a Sqwert if you really want.

Hit me!


Oct. 24th, 2008 01:20 pm
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In the early eighties when I started reading comics regularly I was very "girlish" about it. Let me clarify, comics that appeal generally to females have a certain flavor about them. They are either extremely fantastical or very introspective and personal. Sometimes they are both. The standard dude in tights rushing in to save innocent bystanders only appealed to me in theory plus I was completely in love with the art which could be distracting since the stories rarely spoke to me. It was easy for me to breeze through a superhero comic and even though I had read it, I couldn't tell you what it was about but I could tell you what the characters were wearing and what expression or explosion was the rendered in a way that I dug. I couldn't make it very far into Spiderman, or Superman or even Wonder Woman for that matter. The exception was Batman because he was just an ordinary human, impossibly flawed and neurotic and THAT was the perfect sand for me to get stuck in. The rest of the time I was either knee deep in the torment of Love and Rockets or being mindless with Peter Bagge's Neat Stuff.

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Oct. 6th, 2008 12:50 pm
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When the elevator doors opened the big brown sign was directly in our line of vision: "ICU UNIT -->"
All ICU waiting rooms are the same, filled with human beings rendered into featureless nubs by lack of sleep and constant worry. They stare at me through red rimmed eyes when I pick up the wall phone and asked to be buzzed in.

We make our way through the horseshoe of the critical ward up to the point where I crossed the threshold of the door, I refused to believe what I was told I was going to see: Robi in a coma.

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It's True

Sep. 29th, 2008 03:06 pm
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I suppose everyone has little personal markers that they judge situations by. For instance if someone says "so and so was the worst movie ever!" I immediately wonder if it was worse than "Congo" as that is my high water mark for bad films.
So when I say that the two months I spent as a homeless person was the best thing that ever happened to me, it is partially because I have a solid marker now that I can effectively judge personal disasters against.

The last month or so has been strange and unsettling for me, my mother passed away and my husband unexpectedly out of work has fallen into emotional distress. Our savings account had been completely diminished from my having to fly/drive back and forth to care for my mother over the course of nearly two years.
The current economic crisis has caused my carefully tended 401K to lose so much money I was forced to stop looking at it.
Due to a hurricane and some other bureaucratic nonsense the City of Atlanta is without gasoline. I have not driven anywhere for eight days because the gasoline level in the car dropped so low that I am unable to drive anywhere to find gas stations, nor can I wait in line without running out.
Our secondary vintage car that gets better gas mileage died on Friday.
I tentatively entered into a plan regarding my fertility which I am now unable to pay for and unable to travel there to get treatments even if I could pay for it.
American Express called to say they want the money for those plane tickets to Florida I bought and to show me they are serious they have closed my account.

So with this slow moving huge mass that has cast such a shadow over my life I am going back to my markers for personal disaster to see if it is time to panic.

Are you carrying around food in your pockets that you have stolen?
Are you trying to figure out how to sleep on public transportation without getting robbed?
Are you currently washing your armpits in the sink of the Greyhound bus station?

No, No, and No.
I am having a pretty good day then.
The beautiful thing is - it's true.


Sep. 25th, 2008 10:34 am
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First there is a perfectly good reason I am not in advertising.

"I enjoy Zooland Biscuits because sometimes you just need a little cock!"

Second, if you have ever lay awake at night wondering if you ask a kid in Great Britain to make a noise like a frog - does he make the same noise as a kid in Japan?
This website will answer all your burning questions: Buzzpeek
*spolier alert - cats sound the same everywhere.

Third, I ate the cock - I admit it.
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I have been making things my whole life.
I was wielding my safety scissors at six with the expertise of a third grader as I made a construction paper scene of the missing settlers at Roanoke. I swear I am not making that up. I was altogether obsessed with the infant Virginia Dare.
Their bodies were little brown cones taped awkwardly together but the faces (asymmetrical ovals taped to toothpicks and dangled into the cone) were drawn carefully on with markers that smelled like fruit. My friend Eric immediately wanted dead baby Virginia in her coffin and after much consternation I just handed it over him. The scene wasn't quite right after that. Eventually the dog lay upon the already dejected settlers and the entire thing was discarded.

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Extreme stresses eke out of my person in forms that seem surreal even to me. My therapist once commented that I was a marvel of self repair in the strangest yet most effective ways she had ever seen. She wrote a thesis on post traumatic stress disorders in women for her doctorate and used me as an anonymous example.
I am still oddly complimented by this.

So when I returned home to Atlanta after my Mother's funeral I had two weeks vacation immediately following (see other vacation curse stories!) I wasn't sure what to do. I ripped some of the house apart but I found this vaguely unsatisfying. I tried to work on my master plan but was having difficulty with projects that required big picture thinking. I needed something small and complex to put my hands in.
I have been a fan of Munnys since they came out a few years back. Basically they are do-it-yourself action figures and it seemed suddenly this was the time to explore that medium. A pristine seven inch Munny came via UPS and I removed it from the box with all speed and ran my fingers over the smooth white vinyl.
Somehow this action prompted a rush of inspiration and I immediately googled an image source.
Kali - the great destroyer's image was surprisingly easy to find but a serious bitch to recreate.

I think I feel a little better now.


Aug. 31st, 2008 04:40 pm
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The man behind the desk stared at the paperwork while he spoke, "There is one missing. We have the son, the nephew, and three sons-in-law and that is only five - we definitely need six."
My sisters simultaneously shifted in their seats. The oldest admitted she didn't feel comfortable doing it and my other sister said she would be wearing heels. I heard myself speak up "I'll do it, I am a strong girl." The man behind the desk smiled at me and wrote down my name.
I had picked my mother up a hundred times or more over the past year and a half. She never once trusted me not to drop her which always irritated me a little. Now this was the last time I would pick her up and I was oddly nervous about it.

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My grandma Christy (my mother's mother) had a massive stroke when I was about eleven. She fell into a coma and did not awaken for three days until a few hours before she died. My mother claimed she was breathing shallow and quiet and suddenly she sat bolt upright in the hospital bed and addressed her long dead sister:
"Sybil, if you think I am coming out there in all that snow you are goddamn crazy!"
She laid back down and didn't speak again.

My sister and I sat in the cold vinyl of the hospital room chairs late Sunday night waiting for them to call our mother's name. My sister reached over to pull the afghan up over my mother's shoulder and mom suddenly blurted out, "Alright! I hear you!"
I leaned in and took her hand, "Who are you talking to mom?" She looked past me annoyed, "Mother, you have got to stop irrirating me like this."
I have decided that when I begin to die I would like to start talking to someone a little more famous, like Oscar Wilde or Frank Lloyd Wright or something.

Anyway, Mom is stable now in the hospital. Three bags of electrolytes and mountain of pills later and she now remembers my name and where I live and the fact that when I was born she was intently reading a book and one of the nurses had to physically remove it from her hands to tell her it was time to push.
The book was "In Cold Blood."
In retrospect this seems a portent to my life thus far.
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As I rolled up to the stoplight a homeless guy stood nervously on the median shifting back and forth from one foot to the other. He clutched a carefully hand written sign that spoke of him losing his job which led to his homelessness and current condition of living on the street and being generally miserable.

I rolled down my window and called to him, "Hey you making anything out here today?
He seems startled by my question, "Uh no... Not really."
I rummaged around in my change slot but Paul had recently cleaned it out. "Here is fifty cents!" and when he approached I also handed him a pen. He looked confused and I tapped on the piece of cardboard.
"Your sign says you got laid off - right?"
He nodded.
"Well you don't have the word 'OFF' in there, it just says you "got laid last week" and now you are living on the street and the rest of it. I don't think anybody is going to give you cash for that - know what I am saying?"

A look of understanding swept over his face as he looked at the sign, "Boy do I feel stupid... I sure did leave that right off. No wonder I have been having such a bad day..." He starts to scribble onto the sign as the light turns green.
I hear him call out after me as I roll off,
"Thank you maam! Thank you for everything!"
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