tap tap...sir excuse me sir..

life is currently mundane...will report back when there's something entertaining to report...
like how I scared myself last night by watching 30 days of night on my computer in a pitch black bedroom...

or how I just annoyed myself by using the work "like."

Que?

So Saturday I pick up "the nana..." as she's known in our household for her hair appointment. I'm sitting in my very soccer mom mini van with the Harley Sticker in the back window because damn it the man I sleep with rides one & Social Distortion is still making the little van vibrate...I'm grasping at what's left.

The nana walks up to the car....and here is where I wish I could draw (besides the fact that I've always wanted to be a tattoo artist...yes... a wanna be Kat Von D...) so I could give you a very clear picture of what she was wearing. Besides the classic old lady haircut..short kinda reddish where she tries to cover the grey never blows it out or anything so it looks "fluffy"... She had on a green...Mmmm leaf green polyester pants. One of my very old (I'm thinking junior high) striped pink shirt and a wool knitted red and black striped cardigan sweater. I promptly said "what the hell are you wearing...you look crazy..." she did. She looked like the old nana immigrant woman you see on the Mexican side of town who wear a big black skirt with a WHAM t-shirt on...they just toss t-shirts on never knowing what the hell it means...my favorite has been an old nana I saw sitting at a bus stop wearing an Anarchy t-shirt...

So we went rounds on how she looked crazy and how she knew she looked crazy but she doesn't give a shit. Which as usual got me thinking. Is that what happens when you truly turn into a little old lady you stop giving a shit that you look kinda loony? Is that liberating? Is it liberating to know that your boobs are pointing in two different directions but "fuck it I'm old." Is it a sign of truely getting over how you look or is it a sign of defeat? It can be the most truthful "Oh I give up..." in ones life. As in the old man who finally calls it defeat and starts wearing suspenders with his pants, because damn it he's got a round belly & he has to.

Those thoughts lead to more thoughts...what or when am I going to call defeat on the whole appearance thing. My girlfriends are starting to talk menopause...will a day come when I go pick one up and she's wearing what I recognize as one of her sons old Metallica t-shirts with a skirt and a cat popping out of her skirt pocket (as you read this you know who your are)?

I'm not a high fashion woman...if I look in the neighborhood of cute & am clean then it's a winner as far as I'm concerned...BUT I don't want to look loony. I would like to be one of those old ladies who wears jeans & a cute blouse...That's probably not going to happen...I don't think I'll end up looking cute...never really been cute so I won't end up a cute old lady. If I'm being honest I picture myself in said jean but with a Harley T-shirt & jacket on...did I mention that I intend to grow into an old biker mama? If Harley's exist by the time I get retirement old...by then who knows they might fly through the air or we might have no gas to run a motorcycle...

I could get somewhat loony and think in my old age that I can still pull off a biker mama tank top while riding my Harley around town...my boys will cringe when they see me & my grandchildren will think nana is weird but fun...

Sigh....who knows. I just hope that I don't end up looking like Miss Roper from Three's company...I understand the comfort of a mu mu...I do but that's the dark side as far as I'm concerned & I hope to never get to the point where the mu mu is acceptable grocery shopping attire.

mushy gushy

alright I swore I wouldn't write mushy crap about my kids...the following is close to mushy crap so feel free to click me away.

I was pondering Sunday about how kids enter every little corner of our lives with their stuff. Even when they are gone they somehow leave a little something behind to remind you that they are with you. Every single corner of my home has a token of one of my kids along with every corner of my life.

Examples:

I find two of SJ's favorite books next to the toilet in our bathroom where I keep a pile of magazines (come on we all read on the jon).

Saturday night I'm plagued by a poking sensation while sleeping only to find that I was sleeping with a transformers action figure next to my face. When did it get there?

Folding landry I find a baby sock tucked into my t-shirt sleeve.

There are currently 2 hot wheels cars in my purse...I keep removing them they keep coming back.

There are usually 2 to 3 little rocks in my purse. SJ brings me rocks as presents and make sure I have some always.

This one's a classic: I leave the house for school only to discover at school that I've got baby spit up all over my shoulder. I thought I smelled funny...but didn't have time to investigate..plus going to chem I figured it smells funny in there anyways blame it on the classroom.

Lastly the stepping on the army man around 3 in the morning. I've done this so many times...those little green fuckers get everywhere. It hurts like hell also...for a split second I always think "who the hell left barbed wire just laying around..."

Little reminders of them everywhere...and every time (except for the army men incidents) I am completely charmed by it.



Lately there's been plenty of talk from my girlfriends about menopause. Some are thinking they might start it...some are thinking that they started it. I really paid it no thought till last night I had a very big conclusion. If the girlfriends are talking/thinking about it. The girlfriends are in my age group....then "hey wait a minute...that means it's circling me to..." Suddenly the old hag buzzard is above me waiting to shit on my head. Which makes me what? Pissed at Oprah that's what. Menopause makes me pissed off at Oprah for saying that 40 was the new 20. It is if your Oprah.