I would love to write a post about “How To Can Peaches”, or “Americana: Past, Present, Future”, or maybe a nice book review. However, the wiring in my brain doesn’t work that way and I’m happily oblivious of how to “can” anything.
It has been a bipolar week of emotions and thoughts, chill-pill gummies were nowhere to be found and my funny bone fled the scene. I’m blaming it all on my Vagina. It has been temperamental and highly irritated lately. Complaining to no end and acting like a spoiled brat. Maybe a pick me up is needed, a dinner date or a new outfit. Though I did recently discover my vagina was a card-carrying member of the Depressed Vagina Club.
According to urban myth Vagina’s are magic boxes imbued with mythical and magical powers. Powers to hypnotize men into wars, murderous rages and irresponsible behaviors. I would suspect two other forces might have a hand in those affairs, Jack Daniels or Jim Beam. It is rumored that mixing the powers of Jack or Jim with Vagina, will produce various beliefs that give a person the ability to dance exceptionally well, increased intelligence, enhance decision-making abilities and financial stability. Though I would again suspect this is just a RUMOR.
Throughout history the Vagina has been given various names and meanings. Hence how the “The Dark Ages” got their name. Thankfully the 70’s brought the Vagina back into the mainstream and out of the Doris Day era where it was illegal to talk about it and punishable by death to enjoy it.
Thanks to women like Michelle Obama, Hillary Clinton, Sharon Stone, Perez Hilton, Brittany Spears and The Kardasians, the Vagina is a powerhouse. She can walk proud now, even be seen in public, without being hunted down like a Witch in Salem. The Vagina goes to college, can run for the US Presidency, is CEO of Fortune 500 companies, curses like a sailor and demands equal rights and her own professional sports teams.
As with any greatness, there are downsides. Vagina’s are also high maintenance. They get irritated quickly and with little provocation. They can act irrationally and are often weakened by physical ailments. They take care and consideration and are often misunderstood and mistreated. They can easily be confused with others and callously compared as well. Even well-behaved Vagina’s have bad days, and in fact have been known to go “tits up” without notice.
These issues fueled the establishment of the Depressed Vagina Club. Initially the club acted as a support group for non-functioning Vagina owners. As time passed, necessity prompted the addition of the “fakers” group and the “not enough of a good thing” group. Over the years the club has expanded to include many support networks such as; dry-spells, broken, taken-for-granted and itchy, to name a few. For further information feel free to contact the Director at 1-800-Vag-Help. There is a 24-hour emergency help line for those with immediate needs.
This is a blog I wrote four years ago when my best friend of 32 years died of Ovarian Cancer. It is the anniversary of her death tomorrow and I decided to share it once again, in remembrance. Morbid, but we write what we know. She was a grand soul who brought laughter to many lives. R.I.P. my dearest friend.
Trina Diane Rodgers, an amazing soul was brought into this world on September 19, 1968. Trina fought the battle of a lifetime ,Ovarian Cancer, and finally gave up the fight on 18 October 2007. Trina leaves behind Aaron, her son; Rachel, her daughter, three sisters (Kim, Tabitha and Sue) , brother David, her mother and step-father, niece Maria and a family of friends, co-workers and school-mates. Trina, known by all for her sense of humor and resilient human-spirit even in the face of all odds, will be forever missed by all.
That’s the simple side of things. How do you sum up a person in 300 spaces or less? How do you tell the world how this person changed your life? How one person held such a large piece of your reality? Have you ever had a friend that you told all to? That knew every nook and cranny of your psyche and still loved you? That could tell by a sigh that something was on your mind. Trina and I talked at least 3 times per day. At work and after work. Either way..there was always something to talk about. Kids, marriage, death, work, cancer, fighting the odds, pain management, friends, love, sex, hobbies..you name it. She was a friend to all. She had an amazing spirit, free, humorous, and a positive outlook on life.
This one person who knew all my secrets, took them to the grave. The one person that wasn’t afraid to be honest, even when it hurt. To not agree no matter how bad I wanted her to. Thirty two years of friendship came down to just holding hands.
Shoulda, coulda, woulda. Not words to live by that’s for sure. Watching the friends come visit her, to hold her hand, to cry for the loss. To see her wonderful sister Kim hold so strong, for everyone else. Judi, sitting by her side, weeping softly, as she is the tender soul, the mother in all of us. Aaron, so young, so strong of spirit, wanting to pull the cancer out of her body, to make her whole again. She loved him so much, was so proud, wished him every success and wept at his self-inflicted pain, taking it as her own. Knowing without a doubt he would be successful, whole, loved. Wishing the best of all worlds for Rachel, the daughter she gave to a better life than she could offer so many years ago. Hearing her speak of the daughter she had not seen in so many years, with pride, protective mother instincts, love and longing for a different path.
She held out on love, waiting for Mr. Right. Passing Mr. Okay up many a time. Her hilarious laughter, we could always find a dose of that. She loved to dance. She learned to kick box. She learned to make the most fantastic no-nut banana bread. She learned tact and trust and love and forgiveness. She was a woman who learned to listen to her body, the world around her. She loved long hair and hated her hair short. She taught me to drink coffee and how to be a better friend. She found the love of painting (Bob Ross), her beautiful lab, Precious, another child to her.
So many memories, thousands in fact. I’m just finding it impossible to process this. Tonight I walked over to the phone to call her..to tell her all the news. I remembered she would not answer.
I wish for one more hug, one more “what’s up my biotch?”. The void seems like it will swallow me whole right now. Where is that rewind button when you need it? How do I move forward when my feet seem to be frozen. When does the crashing wave of grief let me breathe?
She did not want us to mourn for her, but to celebrate all she did and what she lived for, LIFE. Don’t look back because tomorrow is here soon enough.
With love and deepest sadness I say goodbye to this amazing woman. I will forever miss you Trina, my dearest friend.
My funny bone has healed somewhat and I’m ready to write a “bit”. Recently I played the game “Life”. It had been years, since I was a teenager, that we pulled that game out of the closet. My whole family used to play games, Yahtzee, Life, Parcheesi, Trivial Pursuit. That was about the same time Nintendo hit the market, when no one could afford to buy it and kids still played outside all day. Yeah..and wagons were a common site in our Amish village.
I fondly remember the game, we used to fight over the color cars and lose count as to who’s turn it was. Vivid memories of freaking my father out when I put a new spin on the family game and took a pink peg as my “spouse”. The fun I had with that reaction.
For those who don’t remember the game (you must be about 10 yrs old then) it’s a board game where you move through various life events (marriage, buying a house, babies, paydays, winning lotteries, trees falling on cars, night school, more babies, insurance claims, taxes, etc) Pretty on target for the 60’s – 80’s eras. Well we have come a long way baby and a few suggestions on updating the game came up while playing. Ideas that seemed to more in tune with families today. Just keeping it “real”.
You car is hit by a meteor or unknown alien vessel and is NOT covered by insurance because you don’t have Geico
Your spouse has an affair with the groomer
You discover your spouse is on “the down low” and wearing your clothes
Teen pregnancies (multiples)
You are carjacked for your 1980 Honda Accord, again, no Geico, pay 5,000 to replace the stereo
You loose 45,000 a year job due to downsizing, and start selling crack for 90,000
Get treatment for chlamydia at free clinic, no charge
Your drunk neighbor falls on your porch and sues you for 100,000, you pay 200,000
Get second mortgage to pay for community college for oldest daughter (50,000)
Pay for counseling for son, he thinks he is IN a video game (pay 5,000)
Sex change operation for son (therapy was a bust) pay 100,000
Pay for therapy for father after son’s surgery (6,000)
Choose career as Teacher (35,000 annual pay)
Daughter becomes a stripper (1,000 a night).
Your life becomes a reality show and is cancelled after third season (250,000) your friends now hate you
Breast Augmentation, pay 15,000 or do it cheap for 8,000
Join Jenny Craig for 12 weeks pay 2,000
Life is short..live it large!
I’m busy…so busy I have time to watch “Burn Notice” and type a blog while sipping Kool-Aide and sitting on my couch. Did I mention I went tanning tonight…and in a conventional bed to boot (20 minutes). That is what I call my “personal time”.
Did you know that “time” wears roller blades and can move 75% faster then the average human being? I mean, it’s always getting away from me.
Plans, lots of them, chores, painting that picture, finishing an art project, getting a pedicure, having lunch with a friend, paying an overdue bill. Poof! You plan and then time speeds up, whipping right by you with a wink and a wave.
There are friends I have planned on calling each day for the last 44 days. Each day I wake up and say, I’m going to call Tonya or Stacy, and then “Poof!” there goes that biatch Time. Well now 45 days have passed, Tonya has forgotten my name and Stacy is working on her second marriage. Then this little voice in my head says, “tomorrow”. I want to snuff that little voice out.
My dog needed a vet check for a problem ear, well 3-weeks later and 293.00, he was diagnosed with a terrible ear infection. Actually the vet suggested that he might have allergies and needed a higher grade food. Of course, being the conscientious pet owner, I ran out and bought a 50.00 bag of dog food.
There I go, off on a tangent. That is another story, pets. Time, she is NOT my friend. Because of her my hair has silver strands sticking out at odd angles and the word “frizz” has entered my hair care vocabulary. My breasts no longer even resemble perky and are starting to look like depressed cantaloupes.
When a woman walks by me with what appear to be firm breasts I disdainfully comment about her boob job. Jealousy is also a new bitch in my life…again, another tangent and blog.
Time and phone calls. I truly intend to call the people I love, to take care of important details, to go to the gym, take the dogs for a walk, paint the house, create a plan for world peace and learn to like carrots, but TIME escapes me. It’s a cosmic joke beyond simple human understanding. It reminds me of playing hopscotch. You skip over the squares to land in the spot with the rock…unsteadily you bend on one leg to pick up that token..precariously balanced for those few moments.
Life and time seem to operate like this on a routine basis. So the next time you see Time, please tell her to stand still for a little while. Even if you have to wrangle her to the ground and hogtie her, do it. I have no desire to get much older or my breasts to end up like a second set of knees. Oh, and kindly ask her if she has a friend called Rewind. I need to borrow them too.
I’ve looked everywhere, under the bed, in the fridge, outside the box and even around my office cubicle for my ever elusive “MUSE”. How I have missed her over the past few months..maybe years. I’ve gone so far as to search the eyes of strangers for a glimpse of her, hoping that she had found her shadow and would soon return home.
She is a make-believe friend, that never drifted away when childhood ended. Think Barbara Streisand from “A Star is Born”. The smokey eyes, the sexy nasally voice…and the nose. THE NOSE. She is a character, my muse.
The kind of gal you want to keep around, just because she makes you laugh. Her laughter is contagious, sometimes rushing out of her in loud hiccuping guffaws and ending in an impolite snort. She is a mover and shaker. She brings the images and stories from my mind to the paper or screen. She stands behind me prodding me on, one sentence at a time. Maybe she is out “musing” someone else? Is double “musing” a possibility? Is it even LEGAL? Now let’s think about this for a minute…
The funny thing about muses and musings are their lack of concreteness. They are forever whisping about, infusing people with impromptu moods of creativity.
A temporary muse has stepped in to cover while my real one is out whisping. It’s not really working out, this relationship with the “other” muse. He is like Yoda, continuously trying to keep me on the forces of good. Yapping at my feet to keep me on the straight and narrow, reminding me of responsibilities and that with age comes wisdom. Screw him. The Dark Side has some benefits you know? Not everyone can play fair and square all the time, sometimes you have to color outside the lines.
Now that I sound like I’m having a complete psychotic breakdown, should I mention that this is my third day on Chantix? That’s the “help you quit smoking drug”. Some of the side effects are anxiety, nausea, vomiting, vivid dreams, depression, co dependency (minimal) and magical powers of a psychic nature. Okay, I made that last part up..but it sounds good right? In the end, it will hopefully facilitate my cessation of the use of nicotine products. Then NEW CAR time! Though in reality, I enjoy smoking. The relaxing, chatting with friends, drinking a beer, stress relieving side of smoking.
YES Yes Yes, you non smokers have all kinds of negatives to point out….smokers KNOW it smells bad and is killing our lungs. We are not stupid, we are addicts. Just so you know.
That brings on another brain surge, addictions, but I’ll save that for another post.
Have a Happy Day!
Bees..yes..the yellow/black flying bugs that are here everywhere! They are sneaky bastards. Flying low, under radar, and then POOF into some unsuspecting opening, only to land you with that unwanted kiss.
Damn..they are out! They are the only reason I love winter..they die in winter. It’s too cold, windy, rainy. But OHHH no..it’s warming up or they have invested in fur jackets. Out flying solo today, saw them myself.
As a five year old (maybe 4) I remember having a bee land on my nose and just sit there. I remember sweating and my heart thumping and that’s when the “phobia” started.
You know..some books actually suggest exposing yourself to your fear over and over to help ease the fear. How the hell is a person really capable of that? I mean..you are irrationally afraid of something, are you going to purposely expose yourself to it? Are you on CRACK?
So each September thru October I hide in my house. I check the doorways, the walkways and the eaves. My car windows stay up (I have luck of them flying in on me) and I absolutely PANIC when I hear buzzing.
I can distinguish between an african desert fly, arabic horse fly, housefly, Tanzania Blood Fly and a BEE! Just by the buzz! I can leap tall buildings, benches, light posts, people, large dogs and maybe even an SUV to get away from a bee.
It’s not just any bee..but the hornets and yellow jackets. YES I KNOW..they are NOT bees, but wasps. Okay..the rational part..what purpose do they serve? They bother picnics, they bite and sting, and they are really mushy when dead. They litter our poor window sills and back windows in hot summer. Okay..so they pollenate..we could pay someone to do that! Right?
Rational? Definitely not. For those people that like to tease me and say “stand still” there is a bee right next to you…Grab a spoon and eat some ass..:) I say that with love. For those that aren’t bothered by them..YOU ARE MY HERO!