New Month.....New Theme

For our May theme, I have chosen the Top Five One Hit Wonders according to VH-1.

Up first - #5 - Mickey by Toni Basil.







Hopefully, Susan will rejoin us...we all miss her!

SPLASH!

Water is my friend. I grew up across the street from the swimming pool, & pretty much LIVED there. Daughter K broke her arm once, and the cast was so soggy gross by the time she got it off (grandma & grandpa were right there still!) I think the doctor was REALLY grossed out. I didn't care - it still held her bones in place to heal, didn't mold or stink, and we were happy soggy people.
Sitting by the ocean can calm me like nothing else can, no matter how hot/cold it is; whether I'm alone or surrounded by thousands. A calm lake says "peace", a river is just happy. And you have to chase waterfalls from time to time. (maybe not the ones of the white powder variety though - I've never tried drugs & am very thankful for that) You've got to get out of your comfort zone from time to time. Hopefully you've always got the lakes & rivers to fall back on, but you really need the waterfalls.
If I hadn't chased a waterfall, I'd still be in small town Montana - or dead. I made some stupid young rebel with no clue decisions, and was too young stupid rebel with no clue to back down or admit mistake. I made terrible decisions about & with men, and instead of backing off or going away, I stayed & fought. Hard. Until the chance to chase a waterfall came from a very unexpected source - a brother I'd never really gotten along with, and his bride of one month. My daughter and I moved to Vegas, where I made lifelong friends who are real people (to add to those from Montana) & would do anything for me, or with me. Visa versa. I learned that there is more to life than small friendly towns where the closest mall/airport is 230 miles away, and it's good. I learned (as did daughter) that I/we can make it anywhere! We (I'll just include her without the slash here - we were in it together) learned how to drive in the city, how to spend the nights alone without fear, how to take full advantage of everything the city had to offer! We learned how to make it in the big school/workforce. Take chances, and LIVE. We were very lucky - we had the lakes & rivers to fall back on, and we knew it. We still do. I'm sure that makes chasing waterfalls easier. Thanks parentals & bro - I've told them they probably saved my life. They'd do it again. ;-) I'm in a much smaller city now (via Phoenix & then small town non-Montana), and have found that big cities (Vegas) can be a lot friendlier than the one I'm in. Daughter is in small non-Montana town, and she & S-I-L are very involved in all that business owner/minivan driving soccer mom involves, but have very fond memories of the "big city". We still tell stories and laugh until we cry. I'm going to hang out in the calmer non-falling waters for now - until my grandkids are grown & on their own, but then watch out waterfalls, I'm going to be chasing you again, and loving every minute of it!

Just once, I want to be that girl

I'm short and a little chunky. Boobically challenged. Pretty brown eyes and brown hair. I'm not unattractive. But, just once, I want to be that girl.

You know the one. You pretend to be friends with her even though all you think about is how it's just not fair that she looks like that and you're... well... you.

And one day she comes into the office with pictures of her recent trip to Maui (paid for by some hot lawyer of course) and in the pictures she's wearing a barely there bikini, looking to die for, standing under a waterfall with water cascading down her. You just know that she had an amazing time, ate like a pig (and didn't gain a pound) , and was gawked at by... well... everyone.

Oh well, back to my boring sweat pants, old t-shirt and watching House (M.D.). No waterfalls for me today.

don't go chasing

Waterfalls.

Waterfalls are exotic and tropical, symbols of nature’s majesty. They are often surprising, hidden, surrounded by lush vegetation, misted by the spray. Waterfalls are sexy.

We don’t have any waterfalls. This may stem partly from the geology – in order to fall, there must be a height differential. The Plains, in general, lack such things. Chasing waterfalls out here would be quite the adventure in futility.

There should be accolades for the “rivers and the lakes that you’re used to,” because there is beauty in the everyday, in the common place. To be able to find this beauty, appreciate it, should enhance the experience of living, shouldn’t it?

The prairie isn’t my river, though. I was ill-conceived here because even in the flatlands, teenagers have sex, but life has taken my to elsewheres. I see it with un-jaded eyes. Watching a thunderstorm brew 50 miles away. Watching the vast expanses of grass turn green this time of year. Fields of sunflowers. Threshing machines in wheat fields. Moose.

The quotidian is more surprising in its beauty than the exotic.

Waterfalls

I have the cutest niece. She turned two last fall and we had a birthday party for her at an indoor water park.. It was so much fun. We played in the kiddy pool. We played in the "worm" pool. The worm pool is actually a hot tub. She just pronounces warm, worm. Cute. She went down the little kiddy slides, we played under the raining mushroom, we kicked around a beach ball. Her dad took her down the big slides. She had a blast.

As we are getting ready to leave, my brother asks me why I haven’t gone down any of the water slides. Well, I had never gone down a water slide. Yep, 44 years old and had never gone down a water slide. I have led a very sheltered life. He says I should do it. I say, well, okay.

So, I hand him my glasses. He and the niece go take a seat near the end of the line and wait for me to slide on down. I walk the stairs to the top. Read the sign on how to do this - no easy task without the glasses. And proceed. I get in the tube. I lay back, cross my feet at the ankles and cross my arms over my chest.....here I go! This is fun! Why haven’t I done this before? Oh wait, Oh Fuck, I’m really picking up speed. Shit.... I hate gravity right now. Guess I'll never be an Olympic bobsledder. I go around a curve and flip. Right over onto my stomach. I smack my nose on the slide, I’m positive it’s bleeding. I am now sure that I am going to die. I manage to get myself back over onto my back just in time to splash into the pool. Oh thank God.

I get out of the pool and I’m pretty sure, my brother has never been laughing harder. I’m so happy to be alive and not bleeding and all that. I’m also pretty sure he was trying to kill me. When he finally calms down enough to speak, I ask him what’s so funny. He just has three little words for me: Crash Test Dummy. And then the laughter starts right back up. Good thing my niece is so cute, or I may not be speaking to him anymore. Turns out I should not have been laying down, that by sitting up, I would have gone slower. Might have had a better first experience. And brother says he really had never seen quite so much flailing. I'm just happy to be alive.

Oh - and probably the best part. . . I WILL do this again.

Last but not least....

As we end our first theme on Mental Jukebox, we go out with Waterfalls by TLC. This was the number 1 song when Kt turned 18. See ya'll next week.

I'll always keep going

Cathy (I will forever have an ohsovery hard time calling you that) cracked me up with this one....& I will ALWAYS keep going. And I only posted twice on this blog this week because I couldn't share this pic in the comments. ;-0
******************************************
I have been given this day to use as I will.
I can waste it or use it for good.
What I do today is important because I’m exchanging a day of my life for it.
- Unknown

Rated NC17. aka: How theater prepared me for real life...

Most of you probably don't know that I'm a born and bread thespian.

The born part? My mother was the biggest and best lier ever. With a poker face to match.

The bread part? I started theater around age 7 (though I did a few shows before that) and continued full time until I was about 16 (doing a few shows after). Total? 42. Some off Broadway shows, some way far away from Broadway shoes. Hell, I've even sang solo in front of President and Mrs. Clinton at the Kennedy Center in DC. What I've learned?

Even when you fumble? Keep going.
If no one can alway remember their lines? Keep going.
Costume error? Maybe you'll make it onto page 6. Keep going.
Clinton keeps his cigar on the other end of the room from you? Keep going.
Things aren't going your way? Keep going.
Fake tears didn't work? Keep going.
Real tears didn't work? Keep going.
Try and act your way out of everything. If that doesn't work? Keep going.
People don't like you? Keep going.
They didn't eat their sandwich after you did unsavory things to it because they don't like you? Keep going.
Cat poos on the carpeting? Clean it up. Keep going.
Lame sex? Use your favorite toy. Keep going.
Food burns in the skillet? Keep going.
Bad nights sleep? Keep going.

And when the day is done? Take a bow and drink a bottle of red wine for dinner. The red wine is only fair, since the mileage on your life isn't tax deductible or reimbursable.

And after all of that mileage from constantly going? We should ALL looking like that brat Madonna.

Take a Bow, meta style

When not meant in an ironic sense, the call to “take a bow” usually implies that one has just completed a performance worthy of merit and acknowledgment by an adoring crowd. Ironically, it means a situation involving gongs and tomatoes or eggs being hurled through the air.

Apparently, my life is more inclined towards dramatic irony than anything else.

Before anyone pulls Alanis Morrissette out of a hat and throws her Canadian definitions at me, may I offer Webster’s? I refer to definition 3, but mainly 3(b): “incongruity between a situation developed in a drama and the accompanying words or actions that is understood by the audience but not by the characters in the play.”

Can we ever see our own situations objectively? Even with great distance, we still encounter the paradox of Schrodinger’s cat, but more so, since we are the cat, the scientist, the box, the atom, and the acid at the same time.

We live life as though boundaries are real. The epidermis exists, but we sweat and things penetrate our skin. Breathing violates the sanctity of our separateness – we imbibe and embody our atmosphere. Speaking violates the auditory spaces of others. We are indistinct; where I end and “the world” begins is an imaginary line, like those drawn on maps. I stood on the 49th parallel yesterday, half of me in Canada and half in the United States. I was in two places at once. Also a paradox, I hear.

So if life is a performance of the absurdist kind and we are all waiting for Godot, at what point does a bow become appropriate? Maybe we all instead deserve bows like those on packages at Christmas – marketing the myth and the mystery.

I don't run with scissors

I've always been a pretty positive person. I've even been known to sing (loudly & badly) just to ease tension at work; make everyone smile & laugh a little. I've been called "perky". notsomuch lately. And the reason for that, is work. As some of you have heard me say, I was sent here to be the terminator & "strong arm" (aka bitch), making sure company policies were adhered to, budgets were met, etc. Little did I know that my "boss" (forever to be referred to in quotes) would be my biggest hurdle to overcome. And he will never change. Ever. He will never be fired. Ever. He makes a whole salary more than I do. I have bigger balls, more knowledge, and SOmuch higher morals than he does. Yet he will never be fired. This much I know; this has been proven (and not just in my little head). So I'm ready to take a bow. I "hide behind my smile" and "just make them smile", "the whole world loves a clown". I play nice. I don't run with scissors (I'm afraid my subconscious would take over, I'd trip myself & stab him). It's time to take a bow before I stop playing nice and decide to sprint with scissors. So I've polished up the resume' and started sending it out. It's a sad sad world when you leave a company you've given 150% to because nothing will be done about one person. Ever. But hopefully it will bring back the "perky" person once again. Make the glass 1/2 full again; it's been 1/2 empty for far too long. The grass is not always greener, but maybe a fresh shade of dirt will be the change I need. And maybe the grass will grow.

Take a Bow

I AM AN ARCHER! Here is today’s horoscope:

Sagittarius
November 22 - December 20


Some new information about a field that interests you could have you browsing the Web and thumbing through books in order to learn more about it, dear Sagittarius. This could involve law, philosophy, history, or spiritual matters. You should find so much about it that you'll want to either take notes or make a lot of photocopies. Don't tire yourself out, however, and try to keep track of time. Otherwise you might miss dinner or get to bed very late!

Gee, wonder if today would be a good day to do research for my ethics paper? But, just so nobody worries about me - the chances of me missing dinner or forgetting to go to bed - very slight. I love dinner and I love sleeping.

Here are some characteristics of the Sagittarian:

Optimistic and freedom-loving
Jovial and good-humored
Honest and straightforward
Intellectual and philosophical
Blindly optimistic and careless
Irresponsible and superficial
Tactless and restless

I think that I possess alot of these traits. I am optimistic and have a pretty good outlook on life. I do love my freedom. I am very jovial and have a great sense of humor. I laugh at life alot and will talk to just about anybody. I am honest and try to be straightforward. Honest mostly because I am forgetful. If I make up a story, it's harder to remember than what actually happened. I think I am intellectual. I don't know about philosophical. Maybe that will come with age. (ha). I don't think I am blindly optimistic - there isn't much I go into without some kind of forethought. I don't think I am careless. I can be irresponsible, but not excessively. And I am superficial. But not in the usual sense of the word. It's just easier not to dig too deep. I can be tactless - I try not to be - but sometimes, it just happens. And I am restless. I want what I want and I want it now. Patience is not my forte.

So, I am the Archer - Don't take my bow - or I'll poke you with my arrow.

Up next after the break.....

Take a Bow by Madonna. This was the number 1 song when Susan was celebrating the age of majority.

My Sharona

The best time I ever had while listening to My Sharona was on roller skates. I was probably 18 or 19 at the Skatium in Minot. It is one awesome song to roller skate to. I don’t know if it was the song or what, but I felt like I was going at warp speed.

When I was a kid, living in small town North Dakota, roller-skating was our Saturday night activity. There were very few Saturday nights that I was not at the Brown Memorial. It was great. Rented roller skates. The cracked concrete floor. Really bad organ music played on the record player and blasted over the loudspeaker. Strawberry pop in bottles. Ah, the good old days.

I loved growing up in a small town. I was a Campfire Girl. I was in 4-H. I was on a youth bowling league. Summers were spent at the swimming pool. Mornings we went to swimming lessons, and afternoons were spent at the pool. Our parents never worried about us. We went everywhere on our bikes. And always returned home for supper.

We lived about 4 blocks from Grandma and Grandpa’s house. I still remember the smell of their front porch in summer. It was my refuge. My mother always knew when something was bothering me, because that is where I would go. I miss my Grandmother. She died of pancreatic cancer in 1975. I wish she could have met my son.

So what was this supposed to be about? Oh well....I had a nice trip down memory lane....

i am NOT a pedophile!!!

Since this is the song from "my" day, & my day SUCKED back then (past lives are hell) (but my BEAUTIFUL daughter came of it, so it's all good) I'm going with the song. I, too, had to look up the lyrics. And ya' know what? Who knew I'd had a Sharona! I had a Sharona once. or twice. BUT THEY WERE LEGAL. SO not pedophile-ish. Young enough to not having to worry about "is it going to get serious"? "Do I look good?" All the shit we worry about (ALL of us Susan) with REAL potentials.....I knew going into these that they were just for funsies. And if daughter K EVER found out (shush!) she'd stroke out. Have a true come-apart. But OMG & holySHIT batgirl were they ever fun! and they were hot. and it was a MAJOR stroke for my Grandma ego. I still keep in touch with them via e-mail (they're BOTH in TX now - "all my exes live in Texas" - sing it with me now). Fun memories......I need to find another Sharona.

M M M My Sharona...

I saw this weeks theme and thought... yippie... I can talk about cop shows and crime shows and ADRIAN MONK and WOO HOO, I love talking about Forensics and since Monks first assistant was named Sharona, I'm In. I'm Good. I'm stellar. Only I didn't really know much about the song. So I looked up the lyrics. And Oh. My. God. It's way more Michael Jackson and a lot less Adrian Monk than I thought... "Such a dirty mind. Always get it up for the touch of the younger kind".

Um. Okay. So the song is about a pedophile? Um. Ew?

But here's my real point... There's all these crazy people giving birth to large bovine type mammals because TODAY'S music and TV shows show and say too much? Whoowhoo, look it's a pair of tata's. Never mind the fact that IMHO at least 75% of people have them. Seriously? I'd prefer to see the rack of a hot 20 year old blond named Amber than see the rack on a 50 year old man with man boobs. Seriously? Man boobs? EWWW.

So how is it that in 1979 no one had a problem with "Always get it up for the touch of the younger kind"? And in 2006 you still can't say ass on prime time.

Are ya'll sure Michael Jackson didn't sing this song?

possession.

I bought the book. Haven’t read it yet. Haven’t seen the movie, either, but I hate reading a book after I see the movie because the visuals are fixed. The author’s description of the character may or may not match up with the actor playing her/him, but the author’s version is the original conceit and should be given preference. Obviously, I’m not postmodern enough. In my world, the author still lives.

Fortunately, The Guru is not based on a book, as far as I know. Which means that Heather Graham, whom I truly believe is not from this planet, can be Sharona without interruption from an author. I like her in this role, the wise porn star who pretends not to be to snare her gay firefighter for a life of picket-fenced marital bliss. Is that what Relationships are about? Deceit and deception, not necessarily of the other person, but of yourself? Is it possible that you can turn yourself into someone else’s version of yourself? Or give it a good college try? The director’s cut, rather than the author’s? The movie says no. It says that you should be loved for the “real” you, whomever that is, and that, within love, one should be able to be completely open and honest without censure.

Is that possible, though? I don’t know that we can even fully see ourselves. I know who I think I am. I know my view of the world. But I don’t truly know what other people think of me or how I appear to them. And that’s what is implied by the possessive pronoun – the other person’s version of you.

I’ve not had the experience of being referred to as “my” kT before. I don’t think I’d like it. I’m not keen on the possessiveness implied in the statement. In standard Irish parlance, though, it is common to refer to one’s family with plural possessives. You call a brother or a child, “our Charlie,” distinguishing him from other Charlies that might be floating about in the ‘verse. Those are someone else’s Charlies. “Our” Katie would have been my great-grandmother. We are American-ized enough through those subsequent generations to have lost the possessiveness of familial ties. I’m not sure if that loss is to be mourned or embraced. Tradition may be constrictive, but at least you knew who you were and where you stood from day one.

I am not anyone’s. In this day of prized individualism, my own world view reigns supreme. This is My world. I create it with my choices and attitudes. It isn’t that I’ve created the rest of you – no more than I created Sharona in the first place – but that I allow you into my sphere because I value the impact you have on my world. Without me, My world ceases to exist. Trees may still fall in the forest, but I won’t hear them and they therefore don’t much impact me. There is the whole wing-flap of a butterfly thing. I agree; we are all connected. But at the same time, without my experience of it, I have no world.

So to some degree, we must possess to experience. But like the famed observer, we change what we possess/observe in the act of observing/possessing. And therefore create change. We cannot cross the same river twice, for in crossing, we have effected change. Maybe that’s the object lesson in all of this: You make an impact. So take responsibility for that and live your life accordingly.

Long live The Author.

And now, a word from our sponsor....

As much as I hate to move Mr. Hasselhoff, it's time for next week's song title.

When Grandma Tug turned 18, we were all rockin' and rollin' to My Sharona by the Knack.

I'm a bitch

I'll link it:

David Hasselhoff.

Enjoy.

My head really IS a jukebox.

The first thing I thought of when I heard the title for the week (besides singing this song in goofy voices in college, ironic in intent, I SWEAR), was the creepy Bette Midler song about "God is watching us." Granted, it's supposedly from a distance, but still? Always? "He" is watching? Well, as we know from the wisdom of Heather Graham, porn star, God wants us to have sex and the universe is not run by a big perv. And since the movie (The Guru) has a Bollywood version of "You're the one that I want" from the movie Grease (the song is NOT in the original stage version), it must be right. How could a movie with that much random dancing be wrong?

The second thought was that **I** can never again be alone in my head because of Cathy (bitch) and David Hasselhoff. Have you seen the ooga-chakka "hooked on a feeling?" I'm NOT linking. I don't hate the world enough to inflict the horror on other people. But I cannot lose him or get him and his floaty, German-engineered self out of my head. Bastard. And it IS Cathy's fault.

So, when I'm alone, and that is frequently, by choice, I am not really alone because I have a mental jukebox. It is, frankly, filled with crap and on super-ultra random mode. I don't control it.

But for the most part? I like being alone. I admit it. I live alone with cats. I live in a house that I purchase one year ago by myself because I'm not waiting for things to happen. Things don't happen. You make choices and the outcomes of those choices are your life.

I guess if I'd really wanted to, I could be married by now. Not to the right person, not to someone I could really see living with for the rest of my natural life, but I could be married, if that's what I wanted. Being single is highly underrated. As anyone who has been in a Relationship that isn't working could tell you (so, pretty much, as anyone could tell you), it really is better to be alone that be with the wrong person (or people. No judgements...). I'm dating, which is a version of hell -- what with the questions Susan talks about and all, but there is something to making connections -- seeing the world from the points of view of others. It's what the blog is about. This is 4 sides of the same phrase. I love it. It's what Truly Disappointing is about, too, but with less control of subject matter.

In Chinese philosophy/religion (Confucianism, I'm pretty sure), a person is the sum of her relationships. We are defined by the points at which our lives touch other people's lives. I like that. It makes us each more than marital and family status -- that web includes the people you choose to welcome into your life -- your friends.

Life is Good in non-aloneness.

I live alone. For the most part I work alone. There are 2 drivers on the road most of the time, 6 guys in the shop, & my "boss" (term used OHSOVERY loosely). He was gone for 2 days while "we" were preparing for quarter end. He got back in time to count inventory. He's gone again now, in time for variances to come back & recounts to be done. 1 + 1 should always equal 2. I am a bookkeeper after all, & have a 10 key for backup because my brain cannot always be trusted. Sometimes it's fried. Today it's fried. Today I found out that 1+1 equals a negative 420. At 9 to 18 bucks a pop, it's not wonderful news. Our corporate COO was very condescending today (I am woman), so tomorrow I will be atop stacks of dirty greasy inventory - NOT to roar (I may anyway), but to be counting 1+1+1 etc. etc. yada yada instead of using the clean 10 key in my clean office to do MY job, the job I was hired to do (there is more to it than terminating & bitching). I will be answering phones (forwarded to my cell) and answering questions and helping customers from atop a huge spider infested stack of inventory. I will then go in and use my clean 10 key to add 1+1+1 and hopefully come up with a positive number. Positive is so much better than negative in so many ways. So I came home feeling very alone (& braindead). My daughter called. Just to see how I was & how my day was (she's been through quarter end inventory nightmares with me before). My grandson gave me kisses & bear hugs, told me he missed me, & asked "how many more days" until he gets to see me. He's SO excited!! So am I. My granddaughter laughed & tried to eat the phone when I talked to her (she knows dada & mama & I'll take a laugh until we get Grandma down). Life is good, & I am not alone. Tomorrow it's old comfy jeans, grubby t-shirt, & fresh air instead of decent clothes (I never have to "dress") and a stale office all day. I may even play on a forklift just for funsies. Michael Jackson will NEVER get close to my grandchildren. For any amount of money, even the positive numbers.

I will call you, over and over, you are not alone....

Are you one of those people that always calls your friends? I am. I call people I haven't heard from in, say, forever. But I call them anyway. To say hi. See how they're doing. What they're up to. But sometimes I find that I'm talking way more than they are. In fact I hear a lot of "Uh-huh", "that's nice" and "really?"'s? About 4 minutes into the conversation I'll start to think... um, why did I call Sara? I don't really even like her? And GAWD why does she sound like she doesn't care? But I think I always liked Sara. Why isn't she talking? Am I really that boring? Did someone say something bad about me? Wait, is she talking to her husband? I swear I hear her hand over the phone. What's up with that. So I'll ask a question. And get a distant answer. Then decide that perhaps continuing to call her, someone I haven't seen since camp 20 years ago, when we were both 4th graders, who lives across the country, may not have been the best idea. So I'll politely get off of the phone.

But a few months later I'll call her again. Just to see what she's doing, how she is.

To all of you who I call randomly just for the heck of it? You can change your number. You can avoid my calls. But I will always find you. Always. You are not alone. Never. I'll make sure of it.

PS: I swear I'm not psycho

http://mabelsmuse.typepad.com

You Are Not Alone

I hate to argue with the "great" Michael Jackson, but yes, I am alone. And right now, I’m loving it.

I left my parents home and married the first guy that asked. Young and dumb. I was constantly fighting with my parents, he offered to "save" me from that. I probably wouldn’t have done it, but my mother told me a story about a friend of hers who had married her husband because she was afraid that she wouldn’t get asked again. That thought had never crossed my mind. Until then. In addition to the parental crap I was dealing with, I now had the fear of "what if no one else ever asks???" It was a no-brainer in my 18 year-old mind. Marry him. Big mistake.
It wasn’t that he treated me badly. He didn’t. It’s just that when we got married, I was 18, he was 19. When we got divorced, I was 26, he was 14. We had different life goals and absolutely nothing in common.

After the divorce, I couldn’t afford a nice apartment, so I moved in with a roommate while I was finishing college. And then, I got pregnant. Oops. I moved into my own place when I was 6 months pregnant. Since then, I have lived with my son. He moved out a couple of months ago. I’m enjoying living alone.

At the present time, I’m not dating anyone. And for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t bother me. I don’t want to be single forever. But for right now -- It’s good. I’m starting back to college this week. I am excited about the new direction my life is taking. I have always been very independent, but right now, I really FEEL it. And, in case you didn’t catch it in paragraph one, I’m loving it.