blue girl

Know Now (50-50, Post #26)

Blue Kid helped me make a window treatment for his room. We made decisions together. Very rare. And very nice. As we measured fabric, Eddie Vedder’s voice filled the room. We had just watched Into the Wild. BK had romantized Christopher McCandless’ life, but I hoped he hadn’t romantized his death.

“He lived how he wanted, Mom.”

“I know...”

He watched me as I tied bandannas around the denim fabric. He hung the curtain as I watched him.

I thought of what Christopher wrote in a book as he lay dying.

Happiness only real when shared.

He knew. Too late.

Not Fierce At All (50-50, Post #25)

I picked up blue kid from his friend’s house. I wasn’t planning on running into Brad Pitt. I wasn’t planning on being photographed. I wasn’t planning on entering a beauty contest. I just slid my orange Crocs over my white socks and flew.

When BK saw me he stopped cold.

“Hideous does not even begin to describe that look.”

“What?”

“You need to grow a fashion sense.”

“One does not grow a fashion sense. One acquires one.”

“I don’t think you could even acquire one. You’d have to adopt one. I don’t think you could do it on your own.”

Neddie Gets Clipped

So asking me if there is anyone in particular I'd like to "see" is a big semantic matzoh-ball. The intention of the question and its interpretation are oceans apart. Most female customers will understand it -- correctly -- as a challenge to assess the competence of the stylist who gave her her last cut; got a good one, repeat. Bad one, move on. This male customer, who happens to like women very very much thanks for asking, thinks it's exactly the same question that they ask at the front desk of the Mustang Ranch.

Neddie doesn't think he's alone in this dirty little secret. But, I hadn't thought of such a thing before. Thanks for letting me in on it, Jeddie. Now I'm going to be analyzing the men who are getting their hair cut while Bubbles is cutting mine.

And What a Time It Was, It Was (50-50, Post #24)

Years ago, Jennie was visiting and I had a secret plan, a surprise, inspired by Simon and Garfunkle.

I put a bench in our backyard, coaxing her to sit next to me. It was a warm day in October and the leaves were falling around us as The Skimmer snapped photos.

Later, he chose the perfect one, her leaning into me, smiling. He painted us in deep, rich pastels, sitting on the bench in Central Park, with the majestic buildings looming behind us.

He captured our friendship perfectly. She thought so too when she opened it on her 30th birthday.

Haunting My Dreams

Barack Obama has been haunting my dreams for two years.

All that smiling (read: hopefulness!) was an omen...

But, he never gets that safe open. Another omen maybe?

Obama's White Shadow

I had a dream two nights ago that I was in a meeting with the guy who played the coach on the TV show, The White Shadow, Joe Scarborough and Barack Obama.

Joe Scarborough was not paying attention to our meeting like he should have been because he was doing his TV show from the meeting. He was sitting at the one end of the table, surrounded by a ton of cords. I couldn't hear what the other two were saying, so I kept walking around the table, trying to turn the TV down, so we could concentrate without Joe's booming voice interrupting us every two seconds. I was getting frustrated that that very logical tactic did not seem to be working.

Suddenly, I was walking down a corridor with The White Shadow and I was being very nonchalant as I was trying to convince him to vote for Hillary Clinton. He kept disagreeing with me, saying things like, "I don't really like Hillary Clinton!"

All of a sudden The White Shadow actor turned into Barack Obama. He started walking way ahead of me as I was still trying to convince him of voting for Hillary. He had his suit coat over his left arm and his car keys in his right hand. He was getting aggravated with me, even though I thought I was being quite coy. We got out into the parking lot and he sped up, leaving me in the dust, still trying to convince him. Again. I wasn't even being that pushy!

He got into a huge SUV and sped away. I realized as he sped away that I had been trying to talk Barack Obama into voting for Hillary. Duh! It hadn't really dawned on me before that in the dream. And I thought, Fine. Do what you want. See if I care.

Then, I fell through a chainlink fence. And an old man with a scruffy beard and wearing old clothes just stared at me and didn't even try to help.

The End.

****

Not only am I slow in my dreams, realizing far too late that I was trying to convince Obama to vote for Hillary, I just now realized as I was typing this up the whole White Shadow thing. I've been thinking all week...where in the heck did that come from?!

Was I Obama's white shadow? Is Hillary? What does that mean?

For other crazy blog dreamers, go read Kathleen's. You don't want to miss it. I've give you a hint: It stars Hillary and Cheerios.

The Whole Story (50-50, Post #23)

Sometimes I feel compelled to tell The Skimmer a story. It still surprises him after all these years. Maybe because I’m so enthusiastic, he thinks I’ve won the lottery. Or solved a crime or something. I normally act out the scene.

“Listen to this! There was this teeny, old wrinkly lady in the grocery store. Like, 106. Two feet tall! She was like shuffle ..... shuffle ...... shuffle down the aisle. Huge black galoshes. Purple hat. She was carrying a box of Fruit Loops. She was in the produce section, knocking on a watermelon!”

“And....then?!”

“Shut up! You should have seen her!”

Just What Is She Up to Now?!

What she said.

Trapped

Robert Stein on George W. Bush:

With every passing day, he is looking more like the deluded character in "Arsenic and Old Lace" who thinks he's Teddy Roosevelt and keeps running up the stairs with a saber, yelling "Charge!" and the rest of us feel trapped in his bad movie praying for the lights to come back on.

Read the rest of his post here.

This Morning in March (50-50, Post #22)

I’m sleepy and not feeling well this morning. It’s gray out, which matches my mood. Except for the sound of a bird’s chirping, the house is quiet and still. Walking up the stairs just now, Jack was there, looking down on me. I reached the top and sat down, laying my head on the back of my hand on the landing. He walked over slowly, got close enough to kiss, then backed away shyly. I patted the carpet and he inched up again. He yawned then slunk away, probably to nap. I wish I could curl up and join him.