The Dead Woman's Scales

Back in the fall, Bea got an invite to a party that she didn't want to accept, but in true Bea-fashion, she was conflicted. And guilty. And waffling. In the end she decided to go, and she wound up having a great time and met some new people. The following week, she got a call from a guy who had been at the party - she never actually met the guy, because he was leaving as she got there, but he heard her laugh and wanted to meet her. (I know - how damn romantic is that?!) Of course, being Bea, she waffled and conflicted with herself, before acquiescing and going to meet him at - was it a Golden Corral? I can't remember, though I know the GC comes into it and figures prominently for me, seeing as how it gets my vote as Most Likely Place To Contract Anthrax or The Latest Flu. But that's my story, and this is Bea's. Anyway, she went, she met him, she really, REALLY liked him, and they started to date.

He was from Iowa, or one of those states that start with an I and is way the hell up near Canadia, and he was here, tending to his long-time friend, who used to be his girlfriend but not anymore, who was dying from cancer, and he had promised to be there for her. Again, points in his favor, for being the kind of guy who sticks it out with you, though that was their story, his and the Dead Woman's, and only a side note to this, Bea's story. He had planned on coming and staying with his friend, to help her out in the final days, and he did, but he hadn't any point of reference to prepare him for the horror of the final days of cancer, and try as he might to be a stoic tough guy, it was getting to him. I think he turned to Bea for companionship during those days; someone who wasn't hip-deep in death to help him maintain his perspective through it all.

Long story short, it was maybe a month that Bea had known him before his friend passed away. He began to dis-assemble her household, and in that great shuffling of stuff he passed some things on to Bea, one of which was The Dead Woman's Scales.

It's not like Bea has ever had a cordial relationship with a set of scales - seriously, who does? But she began to imagine that the scales were imbued with the spirit of the dead woman, who maybe wasn't so happy to find even a piece of herself in the home of the New Interest In His Life. She could feel the weight of Her presence residing in the scales, when she was standing on them, when she was looking at them, and especially when she was lying in bed next to the Man. When she weighed herself, the scales always read a higher number than any other scale Bea used, even the dreaded gym scales, which were notoriously biased and judgmental. She debated on getting rid of the scales, but decided against it - they were a gift, albeit second-hand, and she didn't want the Man to be offended. They also served their purpose of weighing in, which sent Bea to the gym to work out in a fever of productivity, in hopes of appeasing the scales. Some days the scales were more inclined towards encouragement, and would register several pounds lost, and Bea would soften towards the scales and their intentions, but on other days, the scales were spiteful, snarky even, and she would know that the spirit of the Dead Woman inhabited them still. Earlier this week, when Bea was sick and moping about, pining a bit for the Man, who had to go back to the place that begins with an I, the scales bitchily reminded her that she was more than a few pounds up. Bea again questioned the wisdom of listening to the advice of The Dead Woman's Scales, and secretly plotted their demise.

Just Another Reason Why I Love Bea

Because she comes up with gems like this:

SNARKY

Just Say It.

The last one was:

SHARTING

Taste the Rainbow.

She does have a way with words!

Just a Happy Little Post

Whew! That was a heavy last post. Thank you all for your lovely and insightful comments. I half expected something a little harsher - and that's what traumatic conditioning does to you - so it was quite uplifting to have you all at my back. Have I told you recently, just how wonderful I think all of my readers are? Your feedback sustains, delights, and amazes me on a regular basis. I love ya'll!

And with that segue way, so very reminiscent of what my husband sounds like after a few drinks, here we are at the drinking portion of the program:

I think it was well past this point last year when Bea and I started our Saturday afternoon cocktails series, and no doubt, you've wondered if we've climbed aboard the wagon, what with the dearth of liquor pictures. Fear not gentle readers, (does anyone else here love Miss Manners as much as I do?) the Captain has turned off the no drinking, no smoking (what do you do? Adam Ant - Gack) sign and you may now move about the cabin, drink in hand.

We've been on a red wine kick lately, because Honey hears it's good for the ole ticker. Bea has always been a red fan, so I've been letting her lead us in selecting varietals (Oooh! Tea and scones! Very grand wording for such a cheap bouteille!). Usually a glass of wine is enough to give me a splitting headache, but the Pinot Noirs have been a delightful exception, so glug, glug, glug, ya'll!I think my drinking companions might not be enjoying the photo-op; note the knife being held like it's a middle finger. This is a direct result of Honey hanging out with the men in my family, for whom no picture is complete without an obscene finger gesture, or at the least, an unzipped fly. In a rare fit of practicality, Bea has actually dug a coat out of the closet and put it on. This is big people - do you have any idea how hard it was to get her to wear shoes, much less put a coat on? The girl's a damn hippie! And on an unrelated note, I was out walking the other day and spotted this little feral cat. I love the eyeliner on him/her (I think it's a her - the head is pretty small for a feral male), and with that coat, this could almost be one of those African wildcats that the domestic breed is supposed to be descended from. She's watching the boys intently, which is how I was able to take this shot at all. I guess a herd of boy elephants can be a good thing, but you didn't really hear that from me, okay? Ahh, an idyllic moment! This is one of those moments you really want to take a picture of, just so you can wave it in their faces later, when they're fighting like savage dogs, and say, "See? You do too like each other!" Kids...woof. Is it five o'clock yet?

I've been woefully slack in my reading this week (of blogs; I did finish an Ursula LeGuin novella and series of short stories, and started reading Dr. Dolittle to the boys - all three boys. That husband of mine...!) but I am determined to get caught back up with all of you.

But first, I have to go to art class with the fourth graders and finish my face mug! It's a little embarassing how excited I am to do that, especially since I've been peddling books to kids for three days at the school book fair - you'ld think I'd be sick of all those kids, but nope!

Waiting For The Shoe To Drop

So,
"I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains,
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains"
-Closer to Fine, Indigo Girls

And so far, I don't have strep or mono. So that's good news, but I'm still waiting to hear about dying from a terminal disease, via all the blood tests they're (the doctor's office)going to run. The Professor (my 1st born) has been sick with a sore throat and fever this week, which apparently is sweeping the public schools in this area. I'm wondering if my recent brush with death wasn't this virus; so does that mean I'm the girl who cried "Wolf!", or rather, "I'm dying, can you make dinner?"

Maybe, unintentionally. I could still be dying, you know.

So to while away the hours, waiting by the phone, I decided to edit some pictures I took while up in Virginia last month. Bea, Ms. Q, my sister-in-love, and myself all headed up to the Tidewater area to stay at the flawless B&B known as Bea's parents' house. It's a gorgeous place, right on the river, and just watching the sunset with a glass of Pinot Noir in hand was exactly what the doctor ordered.

I ran some of my favorites through the colored pencil filter in Photoshop and put them up here side by side, so you can see the transformation. I love that filter!

Well, at least I tried to place them side by side - Blogger doesn't always do what it's told, as you can see!

If you want to see some more awesome pictures of this part of the world, check out The Bantering Bibliocrat's month of photos going on right now. I've always loved and expected a certain dry wit from Gene, but his pictures, his way of looking at things is just wonderful. Check him out, and tell him Becky sent you!

You Think, You Worry

"You worry, you think - it's a vicious cycle." -Victor/Victoria

As my appointment with a real doctor gets closer (as opposed to the Doc-In-The-Box variety, which could well have been imaginary - I was hanging with both the Care and the Swear Bears that day, remember?) I find my stomach unexpectedly performing gymnastics routine, in spite of the fact that the Olympics were last winter. Dude!

I'm always afraid of going to the doctor's office. I'm paranoid that somehow they can look at me and see every bad thing I've ever done; at least the ones printed on my face, the rest are tattooed elsewhere, like on my ass, or in my lungs, and they know.

(I'm sorry, did I not mention I was completely insane today? My bad - yeah, uh, heads up, the girl is kind of batshit today, m'kay?)

I tell myself it's all going to be fine, even if it isn't fine. Bea tells me the same thing, when I'm on the phone with her, telling her how my stomach did a perfect split in it's routine the other day.

Bea: It's going to be fine, stop worrying.
Me: I know it's going to be fine, you don't have to reassure me that it's going to be fine. You don't have to say anything, you know.
Bea: Jesus! So, what am I supposed to say? Nothing? Just let the silence hang and fester?
Me: Yeah, something like that. Or tell me a joke - something!

She's so patient with my batsa crap, but then it is a two-way street, isn't it Bea?
Isn't it?
Bea?
(Damn, I forgot she was on hiatus from the blogosphere. I'm just in here, talking to myself. Neat. Does this post make my ass look nuts? And please, don't be honest!)

A Brief But Suggestive History of Cleo's Parties

Flat out - they are the stuff of legend, and anyone who's lived in Raleigh for any period of time has attended one, or knows someone who has. No, seriously. I've broken the ice at more than one gathering by discovering a fellow alumnus of her infamous 16th birthday. That was the party that set the bar for the rest. When we arrived at it her mom was hitting the beer bong (among other things), and she was in good company, which completely freaked out my nice Catholic girl friend Ms. Q and our hopelessly square and preppy escort. They totally cramped my style that night, dammit!

Ask Bea about the birthday dinner party where she had to sit in the shitty seats with my sister-in-love, a vile bitch of an English teacher, assorted sycophants and bizarros, and my older brother, who can put even the truly illiterate to shame when he chooses to. Oh my god - he jumped up and down on that teacher's last nerve, with his deliberate dumb redneck-isms, to the great delight of the rest of us. And the birthday party that I dragged Bea to, where we ended up outside (because Sweet Baby Jesus, it was Open Mic Night inside the party) hanging out with this pair of brothers who were talking FBI conspiracy theories, and how their dad had been on an insider track for something like Roswell or Hangar 54, or something like that. I kid you not, and they were (in my opinion) a delightful reprieve from the usual attendees of those parties; overly theatrical, gushing and patently insincere. The kind of people who bring me out in a Tourette's rash, and make me want to scratch my privates publically, just so they'll go away. Hey - don't judge - it works.

So I knew when we went to Cleo's birthday party this past month that something would happen, because come on - something always happens at her parties. Bea and I arranged to stay the night, so we could tie one on responsibly, We arrived armed with mighty pillows and a bottle of Captain Morgan. In retrospect, we really should have known better than to go with the Captain. He is a bad influence, and has caused me to walk on my ankles or worse, sing like Ethel Merman on more than one occasion, but take him we did.

There were some old familiar faces at the party and it was great fun to reconnect with them, but there were a few new faces, one of which was a guy who had been around Cleo's party circuit for awhile, but somehow we had never met him. He was cute, articulate, self employed, liked cats, and most importantly, single. He also took a shine to Bea. Once the Captain kicked in, I assumed the role of Drunk Buddha, and advised Bea that she "needed to go break a few rules" that evening. The not so drunk, and infinitely wiser Cleo handled the finer points of luring the proposed couple out on the deck, and clearing the house. Then, taking Drunk Buddha (me) by the hand, she went upstairs to wait it out. We giggled together sitting up in her room, just like old times.

Now the rest of this saga can only be related by Bea, as it is her story to tell. She has not been very forthcoming, seeing as how she is very firmly a nice girl, who immediately feels guilty for sins of the flesh, but she did write this recently, and this, so maybe I'm the bad influence, not just the Captain!

Road Trip

We got up at the "butt crack of dawn", as Bea likes to say, to head down to Newport again. Bella, Bea's Siamese cat with the chronic lymphoma thing going on in her mouth, was showing signs of irritation again, and Bea was afraid it might mean the cancer was back with a vengeance. I went along for moral support, and took one of the furry herd, Pooh Bear, for his check up and shots.

We loaded the cats into Bea's back seat in the dark and headed out. I should say, my husband loaded my cat carrier, because not only do I NOT function in the pre-dawn hours, I've also been fighting a horrid chest cold this past week that's left me unusually weak and easily winded.

I had thought taking Pooh Bear would be a good call; he's generally a quiet cat - a total squirrel job, replete with nuts, but quiet - and he wouldn't upset poor Bella with a bunch of constant yowling. It's an almost 3 hour drive and the whole screaming cat thing gets old long before we've even crossed over I-95. (If you're wondering why we're going that far to see a vet, read this)

You might be asking right now, (and btw I'm really glad, reader, you've stopped using that strange poetic form of address where you started everything with "O". That was weird) "So, Tapdancing Woman, how did that work out?"

It's funny you should ask: the thing is, that damn cat, the one who was supposed to be the QUIET one? He meowed and meowed and meowed almost the entire way there. By the time we were going through New Bern, and almost there, I turned around in my seat to see what WAS this cat's deal, maybe even rattle his cage, just to make ME feel better.

I looked into his carrier and saw not one, but two pairs of yellow-green eyes looking back at me. I rubbed my tired eyes and counted again. Yep, four eyes for one cat, because obviously there wasn't just one cat in that carrier, there were two. Simon had stowed away, rather accidentally, and my husband, who apparently isn't at his best at 6:30 AM either, didn't seem to think a 30 pound cat was anything unusual.

It certainly served to break the mood of doom we had been driving under (we were worried about Bella, remember?)and the day just kept looking up. Bella did need the boost of a new antibiotic, but overall she was looking good, for a cat with a terminal disease. Pooh got his shots, Simon got his ears cleaned as incentive to never get in a carrier again, and we had an awesome lunch of local steamed shrimp, clam strips, hushpuppies, and sweet potato fries at a place called The Crab Shack. And on the way home we knew who to blame for the ever-present feline song of "Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow,..."!

Addendum: I completely forgot to tell you what happened when we got home that evening! I of the perpetually full bladder, had to winkle as soon as we pulled into the driveway, so I hobbled-ran past the hubman, and told him to get the cat out of the car, puhleeze! He took one look in the cage, asked Bea if the other cat was going to her house, and when she said no, he sighed heavily, thinking I had brought home another stray. The dork. Bea had to tell him to look again, whereupon he figured it out and great hilarity ensued. I mean really - who the hell can't tell the difference between carrying one cat and two? It's not like they're tiny kittens - these are some meat-packing males, ya'll!

I Blame The Cat

Oh my god, I am so tired - I can't think, I can't type. My brain is like bruised fruit - mushy, dented, and brown spotted. Coffee isn't working it's usual magic either; it's just giving my little mental hamster the shakes as he runs on his squeaky, creaky wheel, shrieking, "Never give up! Never surrender!" (My hamster is a big "Galaxy Quest" fan, in case you didn't know)

So why, you may ask, are you beyond fatigued, O She Who Tapdances through life? (Do you really talk that way, O Reader, my Reader? It's kind of freaky, but I like it!)

Well, it's not because I threw open my house for an impromptu dinner party on Saturday, in honor of Cleo. I cleaned like a mad woman all day, cooked a fabulous huge meal, and then threw down like the aforementioned lunatic as well. No, no, that can't be the cause. There weren't any Party Fouls to stress over - my brothers both managed to not set anything on fire, and I completely missed Bea lying on the kitchen floor for a brief respite, so I was all zen, in a skunked kind of way.

It certainly has nothing to do with me staying up too late, every damn night, in spite of the school regimen being in full swing. I have a mission and that mission is to kick Scrabble Maven's advanced ass so far down she can't ever get back up.

No, no, I blame the cat. Jezebel. The cat who sits outside my bedroom door every night, meowing piteously every quarter hour, like a Regulator clock, only with cat noises. I try to coax her to come in and get settled, I'll give you the pillow honey; but she's got a bad case of Perpetual Wrong Side Of The Door Syndrome, so either she comes in and out all night, with me getting up to escort her, or she has to sit outside and cry. Jezebel is otherwise my favorite cat, but she's killing my deep REM sleep single-pawedly (single cattedly?), every quarter hour of my night.

Yeah, that's it - it's the cat! It's ALL her fault!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In Case You Missed It-
To hear all about the dinner party and how Bea ended up on the kitchen floor, go read Trapped Under Something Heavy - right now!!!

A Night At The Palace

I couldn't resist - I had to throw out a few crumbs , just to tease you.

Okay. Are you ready? You sure? I could go do the meme I'm supposed to do this week...No?

So we arrived at the palace, just a few minutes after 6 pm. The eroding driveway was so overgrown that Bea almost missed it, and when I pointed it out, she said, disbelieving, "Really? Is is safe?" I led her up the brick stairs that were almost invisible under an invading blanket of ivy and we were met at the top by Cleo, who hugged us both and asked after all the family.

See now, it would have been harder to get through, but infinitely better blog fodder if she had been doing her on-stage thing. Now you all think I'm making up the Sarah Bernhardt/Cleopatra thing, which I wasn't, but then she had to go and act all normal and shit. It's like some kind of radar or something.

We went in and settled ourselves on the wonderful old screened porch that sits atop the garage. It's always been one of my favorite spots in this house, and it's certainly one of the coolest. There was a drape that hid the door from view, and as a child, I would hide there when I'd had enough of playing, enjoying Cleo's escalating ire at not being able to find me. Bea and I had brought along a cooler of party beverages, but Cleo was just coming off a 9 day juice fast and was drinking vegetable broth, so she abstained.

There, are you happy? She was drinking vegetable broth, instead of eating, for crying out loud, and that's only the tip of that girl's iceberg. The last time I went to the beach with her she freaked out all the local color with her hairy arm-pitted, sun saluting yoga stuff. Folks just aren't that groovular around here.

We talked about her mom, and her last few months. We brought up the obligatory ancient history and discussed possible whys for some of her mother's more traumatic and showy moments in parenting, how it affected all of us in different ways. We didn't eulogize the woman, but neither did we eviscerate her, because where does that get any of us, especially now? I was relieved to hear Cleo talk about her mother in such an insightful way; glad I wasn't going to have to pick her up and re piece her sense of self back together. She seemed to have found deeper understanding and peace with her mother, in those last months spent together, and for her sake, I was grateful. Closure is so important in getting on with your life, and easier to achieve with a living person.

I asked her if she remembered the time we were approached in the park by a man in a trench coat. He wanted to show us "a little something" and our answers were polar opposites: she said yes, and I said no, as I dragged her from the park. Since that particular memory is from the same period she had blanked out on years before, I wasn't surprised she didn't recall it. It is my fate as a historian that I remember what others forget.

We also talked about our love lives and what we were doing in the here and now. Cleo included Bea in these conversations, and was a kinder, gentler hostess than I have ever remembered. All in all, and rather anti-climactically, we had a lovely evening together. Even Bea would concur.

Dammit.

I feel kind of ashamed of myself for building you up, just to say, "Yeah, it was alright", but Cleo did tell me she's planning on having one of her famous birthday parties in October. Now those are never staid or dull.

So stay tuned - October is just around the corner!

Dinner And A Show

The two women walked silently out of the sushi bar and got in an old Toyota, it’s once silver finish now more of a primer gray. They were almost out of the parking lot before the passenger spoke:

“You know, if she’s really acting up we won’t stay long, I promise. I really appreciate you coming with me, but I wish you had ordered sushi – now I feel all indebted and shit. Does this mean I have to be nice to you, too?”

The driver smiled knowingly, at the decrepit inside joke, and with an uncanny Yoda-sense she replied, knowing it would be more soothing than kindness:

“Beotch! I’m waiting to see how bad this night turns out, before I send you my bill!”
They laughed together and drove on towards the palace.

What Was I Thinking?

Sweet Jesus!
It's the last weekend before school starts and the guys are going out of town.
That means Bea and I should be whooping it up, except...

Except that I've committed us (in every sense of the word) to a Saturday night of sipping fruit juice (fruit juice! dammit!) in the house of a dead woman, while we watch her daughter, Sarah Bernhardt, perform the role of Cleopatra.

Yeah, that was me, freakin Joanie of Arc, who signed us up for this gig.

Bea, true friend that she is, has been very gracious, but I know this isn't her idea of fun. It doesn't help that, even after 20 years, Cleo can't remember Bea's name. It's the kind of girl she is, and a big part of why I keep my distance from Chez Cleo.

"Nobody puts Bea in a corner."

So Bea, I want to apologize in advance for the blatant rudeness you will be subjected to tomorrow. I cannot thank you enough for going with me into the Palace of Self Absorption, and being the lifeline of sanity I know I'm going to need.

So, sushi? It's on me...!

Just Hear Those Sleigh Bells Ringaling

Pictures by Bea

So we went to the Christmas In July art show this past weekend, and had more fun than people should be allowed to have, visiting their sister. This is because there was shopping involved, and it wasn't for the cheapest groceries, or socks and underwear. No, no, it was shopping for beautiful handmade things made by folks we know and love. Here I wave at Bea, because I forgot to even bring my camera with me. I felt naked all day long.Here are some of the dolls made by The Fairies Nest. The Crow Woman in the foreground is one of my all time favorites of hers. I want to have her come live at my house but I'm afraid it would mean her death - my many cats would delight in tearing the feathers off of this exquisite flight of fancy, and then I would have to mass exterminate and Geez! that's tough to explain to the kids! This was a brand new fairy - I'm ashamed to say I've forgotten her name (I think the wassail might have been spiked), something like Callie Ente, 'cause she's the Hot Sauce Fairy! I just love this doll, from her red pepper overdress and her little buttoned boots, to her tiny little bottle of Tabasco! This fairy is a cat guardian, by the name of Kit. Her cat's name is Thomas. Her pinafore is made from a fabric that has little cats all over it. The cat was my favorite part of this - I really want a trio of them in different colors, to put in a basket. Like Callie, Kit also has the new boot foot, which has bitty little beads sewn on as buttons. It's the details that make these dolls so incredible!This one is called The Autumn Harpist. He is a very groovy Cerunnos type of woodland deity, with his antlers on his forehead the incredible little lyre he's holding. I played around with arranging him when no one was looking. Oh alright - so I re-arranged all of them - hey, she's my sister - I can play with her dolls if I want!This mermaid is another of the bigger dolls and is really a one of a kind. She's hanging next to a display tree of okra ornaments. These things are wild - they twist and curl in all sorts of shapes! They are both bizarre and beautiful at the same time, and I've gotten hooked on collecting them.As you may know from previous posts, I have a pottery Jones. I rarely get to give in to it, but the hand painted flowers and designs on these pieces of Earthworks Pottery are so incredibly rendered, like little paintings on each piece, that they're irresistible. This is the one I want! Check out the okras - they are so funky and fun!There were other things for sale too; crocheted shawls and hats (I had my eye on a raspberry beret, and even modelled it, while singing the requisite Prince song. Oh, you know you would do it too!), handmade marbled paper and books, and jewelry. I don't know why Bea didn't take pictures of them - it could have been the wassail - but at least she remembered to bring her camera, so she was doing far better than I was!

So how was your weekend?

Birthday Bash

It was the Bohemian's ninth birthday yesterday. We decided, since it was also the last day of school, a legendary day of rejoicing for children everywhere, that it would be fun to meet up with his fairy godmothers,Ms. Q and Bea, for a little dinner out on the town. We went to a Japanese steak house in Raleigh that's been there for at least 30 years, and a guilty pleasure for me. My frequent dinner partner, Bea, likes to eat a little more haute cuisine, and I'm usually just jazzed to be out of the house.

But we thought it might be fun for the boys to have the grilled up in flames experience. They've gotten to a place where they can appreciate at least trying new things, even if they don't always like them. I can live with that.

Isn't he droll?

You really have to give it to them - they know how to put on a show! These guys couldn't take their eyes off the chef, who was, surprisingly, a slender woman with Fabulous! nails, and a voice as deep as Harvey Fierstein. She cracked jokes and scared the piddle out of the Bohemian with a fake ketchup bottle she squirted him with. We loved it!

Mesmerized

There was a couple who sat with us, who were very nice, and a lot of fun. The gentlemen caught three pieces of chicken in his mouth that the chef threw him, and we all applauded each time.

Volcano of onions, with a side of tempura

The guys ordered green tea, and actually enjoyed it! The tempura was a big hit, but that was no big surprise. The hub and I split a beer - I know - serious party animals, eh?

She was a blur

Who can resist the smell of sizzling onions, shrimp, zucchini and mushrooms, combined with sesame seeds, soy sauce, and oil? While we waited, I did my not-so-famous Fan Dance; a variation on an Isadora Duncan choreography. Are you buying this? Do you know me?

I call it "Butterfly and Boobs"

This lovely pair of little Japanese ladies were very shy of my camera

I think this was supposed to be the birthday boy - and then we eat him! Yeah, the Bohemian was a little weirded out by that too. But he loved it when all the waiters and waitresses came and sang a song in Japanese. I think it was a birthday song, but I couldn't swear to it. It really was a fun way to have dinner out with a couple of kids, and the big kids didn't mind too much, did they Bea? After dinner we went and saw "Kung Fu Panda", which was wonderful. The story was engaging and funny, and the casting well matched. It had seamless animation and the texture and ambience of it's style was very reminiscent of Japan. We laughed our heads off and loved the whole big screen experience of being sucked into another world.

All in all, a great birthday!

Well Look Who Just Crawled In

Darlings!

Forgive me for leaving you all hanging for over a week. I did indeed encounter the Senator at Ms. Q's this past weekend, and let me tell you - the air positively crackled with sexual tension!

In light of the recently discovered brain tumor, his time has become something rare and precious, but when two storms collide like we did, nothing can stop them. He swept me off my feet and into his arms. By Sunday night we were in his car and headed for Cape Cod for a few storm-tossed, star-crossed days of unbridled animal passion.

Umm...

...or at least that was the fantasy scenario in my head; maybe not so much the truth, but a girl can dream, can't she? Especially when that girl can't sleep at night, due to a certain precipitously acquired upper respiratory infection. Bronchitis may sound like a dinosaur, and I'm working hard on kicking its ass into extinction, but so far, its been kicking mine!

Yeah, we're some party animals, aren't we? Except when I say, "Party Animal", its more like a decrepit old elephant on his way to the graveyard, to mingle his nearly fleshless bones with those of his ancestors. Not exactly a scene from "Bachelor Party", but we didn't start off that way.

Saturday afternoon found us (Bea and myself) at the always effervescent Ms. Q's house, and we were all in one of those "Hakuna Matata" kind of moods; dancing around, eating bugs off of leaves and stuff, and singing; chile - we were some singing old broads. (Oh, What-Ever; you know you sing and dance around the house in your underwear too! And besides, we had to kill time while we waited for the Senator to show, and everyone knows he likes girls who uh, sing, uh, and dance, yeah, that's it!)

Check out that party nosh - and its all good for you too; well, except for the drinky-winkies.

At one point this Neil Diamond/Babs Streisand duet came on and we just HAD to sing along, paraphrasing the sappy lyrics, of course.

Ms. Q opened her presents
Later the Senator and his wife came over for cocktails - thats the official story, anyway - and we all made nice with the wife in a photo-op.

The Senator and his long-suffering wife
Later, the Senator snuck off to the computer to book us a room. Oops! Hello wifey!
Many apologies again, for taking so long to get back to post this - I'm still fighting the rising tide in my lungs with this horrid bronchitis, so sleep is a thing of the past, as is simple breathing. Unfortunately, as moms all over the world know, there is no sick leave for mothers, and with the end of school looming closer the demands on my time seem never ending. Have I mentioned I am so over school right now? Sheesh! I am so beyond ready to be done for a few months.

Addendum: I just heard that the real Senator Kennedy's brain surgery was very successful. I'm not only glad for him and his family, but it sure wouldn't be that funny to talk about MY senator, when the real one was kaput.

Also, Bea had to go and ask where all the pictures of her were from this past Hoop-de-do at Ms. Q's. Well Bea, here you go, in all your blurry glory. This is what happens when friends let friends drink and shoot photos. It isn't pretty, is it?

So How Was Your Weekend?

I sent the boys off to Richmond this past weekend - Yeah Man!!!

Once I got the house cleaned I sat back and enjoyed its semi-pristine state. I was only able to achieve semi-pristine because, Hello! I live with two little boys, which means mounds of stuff left around the house,and they're too busy building skyscrapers in the living room to clean up. They were awfully nice skyscrapers, and I hated to be the demolition crew, but one little toe jiggle, and BAM! down it came.

Also, I had plans with Bea and another friend of ours, Miss J, to have sushi and drinks, preferably in my living room, so the scrapers really had to go. Its a rationalization, for my joyous destruction of my children's creation, but its working for me.

We hunkered down with a few rolls and a pitcher of Raspberry Lemonade and got comfy. We watched yet again our current favorite period film, "Becoming Jane". While it isn't actually a Jane Austen novel, it does deal with a rumour about Miss Jane and an unrequited love affair. Oh, and it has James McAvoy in it, and he is extra yummy in this film. Who needs dessert when you can feast on him? (The cat statues on the TV are my son's addition to the decor, but I was the one who made them stop peeing on each other.)
It was really a lovely weekend, although I got very little accomplished. I did have my nephew and his lovely POSSLQ (Person of the Opposite Sex, Sharing Living Quarters) over for dinner on Saturday and we made Bea's Southwestern Stuffed Peppers, which are so easy to make, look fabulous, and are delicious, so how could we go wrong?

Monday was Cinquo de Cuervo - um Mayo, yeah that's it. My brother and his "third time's the charm" really nice girlfriend came over for Margaritas, homemade salsa and queso, and chorizo/portabella quesadillas to celebrate. We finished with a Kahlua Chocolate cake and now?
Now I'm on a diet for the rest of my life! Seriously, I'm only going to be snacking on veggies and fruit from here on in, because I've hit my "fighting weight" as Ms. Q would call it, and I have to get into a swimsuit in another 8 weeks. (cue sobbing)

So what kind of trouble did you get into this past weekend?

"It Was The Best Of Times, It Was The Worst Of Times"

Ms. Q has finally relented (or was it just the painkillers again?) and posted her charming tale of a girl and her little bunny. Now fair warning: this isn't your Beatrix Potter kind of bunny tale, but if you're over 18, and enjoy watching Catholic Guilt in action, go read this and laugh your ass off.

Ms. Q can be found at Another Juicy Rationalization.

Bea has also written her part of the epic saga A Roadtrip To The Coast And Back. Go check it out - its worth the trip, for the Tudball Massacree alone.

"No time to 'splain, let me sum up"

Hello, remember me?

Are you tired of reading the archives just yet? (there will be a pop quiz, later, btw)

Are you maybe wondering what the hell happened to the Tapdancer, that she hasn't been posting for almost a week?

Life, my friend - life has a way of being messy and needing a bit of a cleanup, from time to time.

Let's see, where did I leave off? Ah yes,...the field trip. The professor came home safe and sound, albeit an hour late, so I have no fingernails left - that last hour was the worst! He had a great time and I'm much , much better now. Thank you to everyone for being so lovely and supportive of my crazy uber mom tendencies.

There's been a lot going on this past weekend and into this week, besides my not-so-quiet jangling mother nerves. Ms. Q had to take some time off from work because she has killed her right hand with tendonitis. Seriously, the poor girl is basically one-handed right now, and taking meds to keep the pain at bay. The fun part of this is that she is a WILD woman when she's doped up on pain killers. Besides the oddities she bought from a late-night (nudge, nudge) home shopping channel (and I'm forbidden to tell you just what kind of oddities - I was forced to swear on it, dammit!), she also started a blog while under the influence of said painkillers. There's just the one, drug-induced post right now, but maybe, if we all go over and leave encouragement, she'll spill her guts about her recent shopping spree (oh Puhleeze, Ms. Q - it was such a good story!!!). You can find her here. This is Ms. Q regaling us with her late night shopping exploits:

Bea and I had to head down to the coast on Tuesday, to get our newest feline, Simon, neutered and all his shots. I took a couple of others for rabies, etc. boosters and Bea took her little Siamese daughter, Bella for her yearly checkup.

Why would we drive almost 3 hours to the coast to see a veterinarian, instead of going to a local vet? Two very big reasons: money and competence.

The cost of a vet visit in the greater Raleigh area is akin to going to see a human doctor, and I'm going to say it for the world to hear - every vet we have seen locally is incompetent when it comes to diagnostics. They never seem able to figure out what's wrong with an animal unless they perform every test in the book, and even then, they pussyfoot around. I'm not talking about one cat, one time, one doctor; I'm talking every time we see a local vet the bill is sky-high and the care is low quality. I had to insist that the vet not do an x-ray or wire Rikki's mouth shut, when he fractured his jaw, and you know what? He mended perfectly. When Jezebel got a bacterial infection of the intestinal tract, the vet insisted we do 3 x-rays and a barium enema (450.00) before she would finally put the poor thing on antibiotics. When Jasper had an obvious tumor in her throat; a tumor so big she couldn't eat, the local vet said, "Wow, that's a real honker!" and did nothing else for her, for an entire month, while my cat slowly wasted away before my eyes.

Down near Atlantic Beach, there is a veterinarian we know, who has been in practice for over 30 years. He works with one technician, on a shoestring, and he is the best damn doctor I have ever met. He's saved so many animals from death's door for us that I'm often tempted to see if he'll do my checkup as well, opening the door, of course, for many lewd and coarse jokes, which is just icing on the cake of how much I love Doc!So we took a portion of the furry herd down on Tuesday to see our favorite man in green scrubs, and then we headed over to the diner for a bit of lunch. I love this old place - its been down at "The Circle" at Atlantic Beach since the 1930s, so its not shiny, but it does have character. And the gyro was pretty damn good, as were the hush puppies - mmm, hush puppies!
We yutzed around the coast for a few hours, thought about going to the Aquarium, but as it was rife with schoolkids on a field trip (shudder), we just drove around for awhile and then headed back to Doc's to get the "kids".
Everyone got a clean bill of health, except poor Bella, who had a bit of a nasty surprise hiding in her mouth. Bea is going to be writing about this soon, so I'm not going to elaborate, but suffice to say, we were both a bit weepy on the ride home.

I have cookie making duties for my classes this week, so I won't be around a whole lot, but JOY of JOYs! The guys are going to Richmond this weekend, so Mommy is going to get that weekend of sweet silence after all. Yay Daddy!!!

Its Always Something

Scrawny Joe is feeling much, much better. His abscess is almost completely healed and he was well enough to go out for a few hours this weekend (thank the powers that be - he was climbing the walls on house arrest!).
The spring flowers are really in full force right now. I took this picture of cherry blossoms during the monotony that is carpoop. I like to get out of the car and pretend I'm a professional lunatic/photographer, just to liven things up (for me, anyway!).
You can imagine the looks I must get as I'm laying in the grass on the school's front lawn, taking pictures of dandelions. Hey, I don't care if they're weeds - I like dandelions. They at least have the grace to bloom and prosper even during a drought. If you want a green lawn in a dry place, you might want to consider leaving some of the weeds - it'll look greener with less water and chemicals, and you know - its a far more green thing to have a lawn of weeds than a lawn of chemically treated fescue. The number one source of water pollution in this country is lawn fertilizer and the other chemical crap folks put on their yards to achieve that ridiculous swath of green made popular by the Ancienne Regime. Does it strike anyone else as bizarre that we, a country of immigrants and outcasts, should want to ape the Baroque royalty of Europe with the cultivation of useless green lawns?
One of my favorite spring flowers is on the Eastern Redbud tree. They look like tiny little lady slippers, or wild orchids. We had a whole grove of them come up along the side of the creek, years back, and they always look so incredibly beautiful when they bloom.
The azaleas are out now too, along with the myriad of new leaves, each in a different shade of green. The Bohemian found some maple seeds and had endless fun throwing them up and watching them propeller-spin back down to the ground. Ever the budding scientist, he now has an array of different maple seed pods lined up on his nightstand. I know they're going to end up all over the place, but I also know I have to let him do his thing, in spite of my desire to sneak in there and commit a neatness with a vacuum and a trash bag. Ah, the many ways we say "I love you" !
We had a little visitor on Saturday. A small black cat showed up looking pitiful, and of course we took him in, because we're crazy people (this IS the Temple of Bast, too). He's very sweet and gentle, and we named him Simon. He was so happy to be somewhere safe and to be well fed, that he slept most of the day. Here Simon takes another much needed rest under Bea's chair. The colors outside are just incredible right now! Look at the red of this ornamental plum up against the green tree behind - it's so vibrant it looks fake.
The other cats weren't really sure about the new cat, so they took turns keeping an eye on him and reporting back to the others. Squeak has the vulture position down here, but he's just not very menacing, the big silly.
The weather blew and threatened all day, until finally, around sunset, we got a good dose of steady rain that washed some of the pollen down and cooled off the air nicely. We're supposedly out of the drought conditions and the lakes are back to normal, but it does seem a bit precipitous and short-sighted (to me) to lift ALL the water restrictions right now, when we still have to get through June, July and August. Summertime here isn't known for being really wet, unless a hurricane or tropical storm hits, so not trying to conserve water while we have it is pretty stupid. If ever one needed an adjective to sum up our town and city leaders, Stupid would be it. I took this shot of wisteria leaves with the sun setting behind it because I loved the golden glow of the leaves and the dark twisty vines supporting it all. For me, the many shades of green in spring trump even the colors of all the beautiful flowers. Something about that yellowy green just charges my spirits up!
See? How can an old white iris compete with that vivid green up there? Granted, I took this without any sunshine on it, but have you ever tried to shoot white flowers with the sun shining? I get so much blow-out trying to do that, I gave up and shoot them in lower light instead. You get so much more detail - look at the raindrops on the petals~
Weekends are always way too short to truly feel relaxed and get everything done, but thank goodness we at least have those two short days to look forward to every week!

So, how was your weekend?