Old vs. New

I would like to think of myself as being hip (saying that word completely makes this statement default to untrue, but yeah) when it comes to music but sometimes I would like to smack younger folks of today. Example:

We are in the office with T.H. at her desk, youngest sister in her spot playing on her laptop, and I'm at my desk working on what could have been accounts, what I would talk to some of the contractors about or maybe Farmville, who knows really, but I was uncharacteristically concentrating. T.H. and I no longer have working speakers on our computers and there isn't a radio in sight, so the younger sister is playing tunes on her laptop. This is annoying in itself because the speakers are horrible and make me want to claw my ears off. What makes this situation worse is her choices in music.

Note: We agree on many, many songs but on occasion our age difference will surface.

Ok, back to setting the scene. She is across the room with what sounds like death coming through her speakers plus I think if I remember correctly she might be singing along. I simply stare. Stare is too light of a word so we will change it to glare. I never say a word, just continue to glare at her when she looks over at me (sisters intuition and all)...

"What!?" she says glaring back.

"You think maybe you can turn that off?" I ask. This is my version of the tale so I remember asking "politely" and not hissing at all.

"No, I love this song!" she hisses!

I listen to the words for a minute...

"Really??" I counter.

"You feel like you are living a teenage dream?" I ask "politely".

"Ummm, this is Kate Perry! Do you know how popular she is right now?" she is getting angry.

"You like some of her other songs!!" she harps.

Some growling happened I can't remember the specifics.

"Let me ask you this...will this song ever be on the 98.1 The Max or Rock 103?? (that would be the 2 classic rock stations in this area) Hmm? Will it?? No! I don't flippin think so! Turn it off!" I'm sure I was still polite.

"I will not!" she isn't being polite.

It is one of the few times in our sisterhood that we fight because usually she is very good at handling my "politeness".

One more example before I get to the point:

I flag a car down that was driving through the complex. He is the husband of one of my favorite tenants. Very nice guy.

"I need you to turn your music down when you are in the complex, please." I tell him.

"But I've heard your music pretty loud before." He argues but he isn't being rude.

"Ahhh but my music sounds good!" I smirk. He laughs, turns it down and waves goodbye.

My point: When you are playing music that is good let me define good....Good Music: not something that has been remade, not something that is a remix, but something someday someone will want to remake or remix....then you have the right to disturb me with it. Otherwise, this old lady is going to ask your young derriere to turn it down! Just call me Mr. Wilson and get off my lawn!

A list...

...of random thoughts through out the last few weeks:

~Kids back-to-school shopping should be a form of torture that interrogators use!

~I wish I had a horn that sounded like WHA-OOOO-GA. Then it would be an even more perfect car!

~I should buy stock in McDonalds.

~I seriously would have been a great hippie except a shaving one.

~My children notice shapes in the clouds, know the words to songs I grew up listening to and even dance with me to them, and as old as they are, are still amazed by lightening bugs. This makes me more proud than any report card.

~I must kick my sweet tea addiction. YA RIGHT! Someday but not today.

~Wishes teachers knew how awesome a parent feels when their child comes home at night all yappy because they were excited about class that day.

~A song cant be really classified as magnificent unless you find yourself singing the instrumental parts also...

~My godson sits up all by himself. I will miss him being a baby that lets me kiss his face off!

~WHY cant I hang a picture without having 13 holes in the wall before I get it right?

Nerves, Nerves, Nerves

I only have a minute because I have to get ready for work but I neeeeeeeded to blog. I just dropped the Bug off at her first day of middle school this morning. This is something I have been dreading for many weeks now and had to fight back tears. I almost lost that fight when we pulled up in the drive and she let out a I-can-do-this breath!!

"Do I look like a boy?" she asked.

"No way, you look so very cute!" I answer as a proud mom.

"What if I look like everyone else?" she asked.

This is where I decide I need to be as normal as possible so that she feels like one thing is consistent in this big day of change so I say...

"Ummm...you are wearing a uniform, nubsauce! Of course you will!" in my best supporting mom voice. She rolls her eyes, tells me she loves me then gets out of the car...

A million things run through my mind as the tears can finally run down my face...Will she be ok? Did I give her enough lunch money? I will beat up any parents whose children try and bully her. Crap, what if she is the bully!?? Will she remember her bus number this afternoon? I can go on and on...but the number one question that keeps running through my mind is...Did I prepare my little baby Bug...the one who calls mascara...Madagascar, who I will not allow to have a cellphone, who still hugs me goodnight and occasionally even looks at me like she still likes me...did I prepare her enough for this new journey?? We shall see....

The Long Way Home...

If you had told me 4 months ago that I would be sitting here in this...this...limbo, I would have told you crack is bad. It has been a long, long journey. One that almost broke me. For those that say what doesn't kill us, makes us stronger....I have 2 words for you. Bite. Me. No seriously, there might be a little truth to it...

There was a trip to jail ( a thirty minute trip, but the clink of those bars truly made time stand still.) Then the flood that wiped out my vehicle and the entire downstairs of both the apartments I was occupying. Not to mention the 197 other apartments it effected. A third of those occupied with people who also lost everything.

After several months of staying with my parents (6 adults, 4 adolescents and 3 dogs), red tape, lists and paperwork out the wahzoo with FEMA (I thank them every time I open the door to my new place), car shopping (you would think that wouldn't be in the complaint section, but seriously, I would rather eat dirt!), all while dealing with upset tenants, contractors, city inspectors and just the overall curious (because nothing brings out the wackos like tragedy) for many, many hours several days a week we have finally brought the 1st few families home. Myself included!

My apartment is..I can not find a better word than...mine! There isn't a room I walk into that doesn't make me giddy! Even the laundry room. The spirit crushing minivan drowned and after weeks of searching we found a little convertible that the kids and I can't stay out of (BIG HAIR FOR THE WIN!). I have lost unreplaceables along the way and they will be missed but I keep them and their memory with me always...

Man, it feels good to blog again! Talk to you soon...

Life and times of my hair...

Born: No hair.

2 years old: Sprigs of hair but not enough to keep people from thinking I was a boy.

3-4 years old: Still pretty short and mom still frustrated because I could pass for a boy.

5-8 years old: Long, thick, straight, beautiful hair. Mom couldn't get it to hold a curl with all the rollers and hairspray in the world but she was at least satisfied I finally had some.

9-10 years old: Now this is an age where it starts to matter to you also (if only just a little). It's long but has turned puffy and huge and for the life of us we can not figure out why. We decide to cut it short.

11 years old: Hair is still puffy and huge, just short. Also, no boobs yet so once again...that's right....I COULD BE A BOY! Come to think of it, I could have passed as my first crushes twin brother.


At some point during this year my wonderful Aunt introduces me to Mousse. Best. Thing. Ever. Invented. Ever. I am sure I helped fund the founders children's college education.


Photo: Hair in it's Glory Days!

12-15 years old: Struggled with what turned out to be natural curly hair. Fits were thrown. Many, many styles were tried but eventually decided to just let it grow out and thank the gods that the puffiness was gone except on rainy, muggy or windy days. Which mother nature always scheduled on picture days, but I digress.

16-17 years old: A pretty little actress named Julia Roberts made long, curly, big hair popular.Hooray! I hit the jackpot!! I'm finally cool! At least, I thought so.

I then spend the next 17 years buying mousse and good conditioner and loving that I am different from everyone else.

34 years old: The hair looks like I am letting a perm grow out.

Photo:THIS! This is now!
Flippin Straight Hot Mess!!

35 years old: I cut it all off thinking the weight was making it too heavy to curl.

35 1/2 years old: I sit down in the most talented woman in the worlds chair.

"I would like you to trim it and put long layers in it. I want to come back in a month for a trim one more time and then a month after that I want you to perm it." I say. Not completely discouraged because I have a plan.

"Ok" she says.

She does everything I ask. Then begins to blow dry it, I think to myself that's ok, I know she likes to break out the straightener when I come to visit her. When she is done blow drying it, she turns me around to face the mirror and there sits that 8 year old girl.

"But you haven't touched it with the iron!" I am shocked.

"I know." she isn't shocked.

We then plan to have me spend the next two months seeing if I like this. The thing is...I do...when she does it! But if she isn't willing to move in with me so that she can do it every morning, I'm going to lose my flippin mind. I have had major tantrums (the childish kind). I've broken the picture that hangs up in the bathroom trying to get the brush untangled from my hair. Once I tripped over the blow dryer cord after it wrapped itself around the knobs on the cabinet a few times. My once 15 minute routine of shampoo, condition, comb, mousse and go has turned into an almost 2 hour ordeal that ends in a ponytail. I HATE IT! I type that while stomping my feet!! Stupid, stupid hair!

It's been a while...

I have decided I am gypsy. I don't know if I was born this way or maybe it was because as a younger child I was a military brat. All I do know is that I get this incredible itch to pack boxes and start all over about once a year. I figure the only cure is to maybe start a moving company or seek therapy. Possibly both, so that one can pay for the other.

It is the number one reason buying a home makes me all hyperventilate-y!

We are pretty much sitting on go...having painting parties every night this week and a few finishing touches here and there and then the settling in begins! I'm exhausted but very excited. I will have to post all the colors! My person told the grumpy teen I was trying to live in a jigsaw puzzle. I think maybe I'm trying to cure the gypsy-ism by making myself feel I am in a different room every time I turn around....we shall see.

Just a thought...Is there a special job for thinking up paint color names? I think I would like that job....

A tiny "deep breath and move on" moment....

I needed to escape for a little while tonight. Lucy and my person decided that a windowless jeep ride to some little place they love for a couple of beers was in order. It is a wonderful thing to have people who always seem to know just what you need, or maybe they needed it too. Either way its good to have people....so be warned this post is heartfelt but a beer induced kind of heartfelt.

I would like to thank the bestie (I have referred to him as the ex-bestie in earlier blogs, but he isn't. He will be my bestie until the day I die.) for teaching me how a person should be loved. For teaching me that I am worth being loved that way. For teaching me that it's ok to want that kind of love and to not accept anything less. I hope that you have found the person that will love you this way and that you are their one, because you of all people in this world deserve it. Know that there is someone always rooting for you.

To all other blog readers if you have found this kind of love. Hold on and don't let go. It is a hard thing to find, my friends. I think I will take my broken heart to bed, sleep off these few beers and continue my search tomorrow. Hopefully I wont wake up and feel the need to delete this post and thank God for spellcheck! It is your friend!