I love a good laugh. Not just a chuckle, or a giggle... though those are pretty great too... but I'm talkin' cheeks hurtin', sides splittin', you almost fall out of your chair laughs. I know a lot of those moments are of the "you had to be there" variety, but there are some things that can be appreciated by everyone, and one of my favorites- the thing that has my eyes misting over from unstoppable laughs- is Chuck Norris. Well, not so much Chuck himself as much as the infamous, and seemingly never ending list of "facts" about him. I beg of you, if you know any, please share... and I will share some of my all time favorites with you right now:

• Chuck Norris had sex in a semi-truck, and a drop of semen fell on the seats.... that truck is now known as Optimus Prime.
• Chuck Norris' daughter lost her virginity, Chuck Norris got it back.
• Superman wears Chuck Norris pajamas
• Chuck Norris doesn't breathe, he holds air hostage.
• Wolverine is Chuck Norris' pet kitty.
• Chuck Norris destroyed the periodic table, because Chuck Norris only recognizes the element of surprise.
• Chuck Norris can touch MC Hammer 
• Chuck Norris ordered a Big Mac at Burger King, and got one.

C'mon... try to tell me none of those make you laugh (You know, if you didn't, you have ZERO sense of humor and I am now questioning why we are friends...)

Ever try to google him?

(click to enlarge)

I have no idea why I find this all so funny, but I do.

Saloon Whores, Housewives, Candy, & Stinky Hippies

I've mentioned before what a fan of Halloween I am, but for the past few years it just hasn't been the same. I have a feeling it's because I get my hopes up for a fun time, but I am always silly enough to take people at their word. It's my own fault really. I should know better. In fact I DO know better... but does that stop me? No.

This past weekend there was a big Halloween party at the bar (well, the upstairs bar) where I was bartending this past summer. It was also the last night they'd be open till next spring. (They usually re-open around April 1st, and the bar I work at downstairs re-opens around Memorial Day Weekend at the end of May) I had promised everyone that works there that I'd be there Saturday night. I had also promised my housemate that I'd go see his band play at a bar down the street from there that night. I kept both promises. (I'd like to add that none of the kept promises involved some wacky scene where I am running between two drastically different places and changing costumes between each so as not to be discovered as someone that "double booked." They are literally down the street from each other, a 2 minute walk. It wasn't rocket science.)

HOWEVER... because it was Halloween weekend I knew there was a chance that people would go out in costume. I'm a bit of a purest though, in the sense that I don't want to dress up in a Halloween costume when it's not Halloween. Same way I hate it when someone says "let's go out for your birthday next Friday!", when my birthday was that Wednesday. I know I am not alone in this, so I don't think it's that weird. This line of thinking would work to my benefit finally (or so I thought) when I asked my best friend, Wendy Mae, to come out with me Saturday night. She hadn't put on a costume since she was a little kid, and wanted nothing to do with that sort of thing. PERFECT! No guilt for me for not dressing up! .... Then I made the mistake of mentioning the fact that I had a huge box in my attic filled with costumes and random things I had acquired years ago when this islands only "old time photo" shop closed.

You know the kind of place I'm talking about, right? It's usually a very touristy thing (but secretly it's fun as hell.) All the outfits lace up in back so they fit all shapes and sizes, then everyone poses like they are in an old fashioned western saloon, or robbing a bank, or something old timey... then you pay out the wazoo for a black and white 8x10 glossy picture in a cardboard frame.
 

Anyway, yeah... I mentioned I had a bunch of stuff and suddenly she wanted to dress up. (WHAT?!) So, I grabbed a ladder (the only way in) and started rummaging through the box. I brought her a can can girl/saloon whore dress and a red ostrich feather boa. While I was waiting for her to get ready I was sittin' on her sofa exchanging text messages with one of the bartenders asking them if it was crowded yet and if people were in costume. They insisted "yes & yes." This meant two things to me: 1) Wendy Mae wouldn't suddenly want to go home because she felt stupid in costume and I could stay and have fun too, & 2) I had better figure out a costume!

 (Wendy Mae, the can can saloon whore ;p )

She looked awesome in the costume, and she's so damn lilliputian that the dress almost connected seamlessly in the back. (She just put on a strapless black cotton dress underneath) Plus, she still had this pair of boots I found at the charity shop years ago that I had fallen in love with. I wanted them just so that someday when I am rich & famous (what? it could happen, don't spoil my delusions!) I could take them to a cobbler and have them make 'um in my size. (Who knew a few years after I found them I'd meet Wendy Mae whom they fit perfectly?) We left Wendy Mae's and drove back to my house so I could find a costume and put some make up on her. (you know, way more than what she had on... old timey bar whores weren't really known for "the natural look."

I gave myself 10 minutes. 5 min for her hair & makeup, 5 min for me to devise a costume. I grabbed as much crappy fake diamond jewelry as I could find (it helps that I save all my old costume jewelry from Halloweens past), and without changing out of my jeans and comfy top, I threw on a black wig and an ankle length faux fur leopard print coat. Wendy Mae told me I needed heels... I put them on and was suddenly 6'4...and in pain. My last minute "Real Housewives: Edgartown" costume became "Real comfy Housewives: Edgartown." (Edgartown is a local town here on the island where the very wealthy like to go in the summer. We're talkin' preppy to the point you wanna puke; green pants with blue embroidered whales all over them; madras plaid everything... and my 2nd least favorite color Nantucket red. (First least favorite is mauve, but that could just be because I find the world repulsive.... I also find the words "whimsical" & "moist" repulsive, but we're talkin' color here.)

We hopped in my car and headed out. Half way there I grabbed my sunglasses off the dashboard and wondered aloud if I could see out them while driving at night. Turned out yes, yes I could. There ya go, costume complete.

On the way there Wendy Mae told me that the Halloween party we were going to ON Halloween was one she didn't plan to drink at and that she wanted to drive me since I always stayed sober to drive her & I. I have to admit, I liked the idea of finally being able to go out, on a night I loved, doing something I loved, and being able to have more than one drink should I want to.

We stopped in to see my housemate & his band play for a little bit, then went to the bar we would spend the rest of the evening at. I like it there, but it's because it's where I worked all summer, it feels very comfortable to me there 'cause I actually like EVERYONE that works there.

I stayed "in character" by drinking club soda (fizzy water) in a martini glass all night... and even dead sober I danced. (Trust me, that NEVER happens.)

A lot of friends were out (in costume)... so that made it even more fun.

(Wendy Mae, our friend Kyle -who was also the bouncer at the bar I work at, and Me)

 (Laura & Kyle (same Kyle as the picture above this one)... wish some of these pics weren't so fuzzy. I LOVED their costumes!)

 (This gorilla had Wendy Mae & I ready to slug 'um when they came up and hugged Wendy Mae (who HATES to be touched by strangers) then hugged me, but kinda grabbed my boob as they did it. I stood up rather quickly and instantly knew it had to be a female, based on height, so the slugging didn't happen :) I did walk up to the gorilla and ask "WHO IS THIS?!" When I heard the laugh, & "it's Molly!" It became even funnier. Molly is a very pretty girl & yet never does the "Slutoween" thing (I never have either, nor will I ever)

 (Ani & Nicole, they are two very cool chicks that bartend at the bar upstairs from where I worked. They were working that night.)

 (this'd be me in a Cassidy (wearing a gypsy-ish outfit) and Sammy (as "Velma" from Scooby Doo) sandwich)

(note my fancy martini glass holding nothing but ice and soda water... and that damn coat that made me feel like I was in a sauna on the dance floor... but came in totally handy when I wanted to step out for a cigarette)

How did the night end? On a most excellent note... specifically notes that came out of Cassidy. That girl has a set of pipes on her that are OUTSTANDING! See for yourself: (I'm only sorry it's so short, my crappy camera's batteries were about to die)

So there you go, that was Saturday night, more or less. On Sunday I slept in, sent a text message to My Jerk ♥ (he was away hunting this past weekend), and then went about trying to come up with a costume I could easily make even though it was Sunday and all the stores I'd normally try to get to were closed.

I decided I would create a wreath of flowers (fake or real depended on what I found first) for my head and paint my face like a sugar skull. On my way to one of the stores I found out was still open Wendy Mae sends me a text message telling me she has been throwing up all morning and won't be joining me in the afternoon for the private party at work. I shrug it off and go about getting stuff to make my costume with. I actually started to get excited about it. I knew EXACTLY what I wanted to do and how I wanted to do it. 

On the way to the staff party I call Wendy Mae and ask her if she is so badly hungover that she now doesn't want to go out that night. She said yes. I pulled a U-turn and returned 99% of everything I had just bought. Bummer. I kinda should have seen it coming.

Feeling of excitement about something potentially fun? √

Finally have someone else you trust offering to be the designated driver for the night? √

Totally smiling because you feel like it's gonna be a great day? √

Have that moment where you want to put your head through a brick wall because you were dumb enough to let yourself believe that something too good to be true was true? √

Go out trick or treating with Wendy Mae & the kids anyway.... ? √ (They had candy!)

I'm not mad at Wendy Mae, shit happens. I'm just annoyed with myself for continually setting myself up for disappointment. I'll learn someday. 

Though.. I did learn something else on Halloween. Not only do I hate the smell of patchouli (some crunchier than thou hippie mom was drenched in the stuff while out with her kids beggin' for candy, and it seemed like she went to every house we did) ..... the smell of patchouli makes me want to vomit. I mentioned it on facebook yesterday and apparently I am not alone in this:

(click on it to enlarge it)

I should add, I have nothing against hippies, I spent YEARS on tour with the Grateful Dead, and still love 'um... but I would NEVER wear patchouli.- I also showered and shaved my legs and pits everyday too thankyouverymuch.

You Know, That Thing With The Stuff...

This started on facebook among multiple friends... but I thought I'd take it here since it seems everyone is doing a random list of things about themselves. I know it's the easy way out 'cause I'm just answering questions, but...

45 THINGS

If you want to play, just post this list on your blog, replacing my answers with yours.

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
my middle name is the same as BOTH my parents, as well as the first name of my maternal grandfather.

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
I was watching some of those "It Gets Better" videos and the one by BD Wong totally made me tear up at the end. (In fact I dare any of you to not cry if you watch it. )

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
It would look a lot better filling out a blank check signed by Bill Gates.

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
roast beast

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
wonderfully immature friends, yes... kids, no.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
totally, then I'd finally have someone to stay sober for me and be the designated driver.

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM?
pshyeah.... what do you think?

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
sure, the jar of them is still there..... oh wait... you mean MINE?.. not my collection of them? Yeah, I still have 'um.

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
if you could give me a good enough reason to risk my life on a rubber band, okay.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
Fiber One Nut Clusters (I know, weird.)

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
if I'm wearing my boots that lace up to the knee, yes.... otherwise I'll have to live with the nickname "stumpy" after I perform an impromptu amputation.

12. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
I prefer vanilla or coffee fro yo, or strawberry sorbet

13. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
height, then smile, then hands, then eyes, then lips... in that order every time.

14. RED OR PINK?
I like them both equally

15. WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
That questions like this force me to use almost unbearable restraint from tearing myself apart piece by piece when really I should be trying to like myself instead of picking myself apart.

16. WHOM DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
every single person in my life that has passed away, all friends that live far away, and my carefree self at age 23.

17. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO COMPLETE THIS LIST?
sure, why not? I'd also like 'um to link me to it so I can read their answers.

18. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
barefoot and in a skirt.

19. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
there appears to be a suicidal squirrel in the tree outside my door right now, and a VERY loud bird trying to talk him down.

20. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
I took a quiz once that claimed to tell you what color crayon you were; I got "spank me pink"... so I'll go with that one only because I have no other answer.

21. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Fahrenheit men's cologne by Christian Dior, fig candles, burning pine, my skin after a day in the sun at the beach, & heliotrope.

22. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
Pretty sure it was my housemate Colin, but I could be wrong.... wait, I am wrong! It was my little brother.... though I can't remember why he called, oops! (does this make me a bad sister or what?)

23. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO YOU LAST SPOKE TO?
 I like him, but I don't "like like" him... you know EXACTLY what I mean.

24. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
Shinty, Rugby, Football (soccer, not American football), & little kids playing baseball/softball

25. HAIR COLOR?
dark brown with bright fuchsia streaks

26. EYE COLOR?
brown (unless I wear periwinkle blue, then they turn green... it's waaay creepy)

27. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
you betcha

28. FAVORITE FOOD?
fruit: granny smith apples & tomatoes
veggies: asparagus & spinach
meat: roast beef & duck
bread: indian flat bread (the way I make it) & rye
candy: Wine Gums, Good & Fruity, & Strawberry Twizzlers
desert type stuff: strawberry shortcake, cheesecake, white cake w/butter cream frosting
(how was THAT for a thorough answer?!)

29. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
Twisted comedies

30. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
"Better Than Sex"... own it, love it, watch it way too much, totally bananas for it.

31. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
dark charcoal gray

32. SUMMER OR WINTER?
late spring/early fall

33. HUGS OR KISSES?
uh.. yes & yes..... & PLEASE!

34. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
anyone with a sense of humor

35. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
people with no sense of humor

36. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
The Norton Anthology of American Literature. I pulled it off my shelf last night for a reference and became engrossed again.

37. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
what is this mouse pad you speak of?

38. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT?
I can't remember the name of the show, it was something like "I Shouldn't Have Survived" or "I Should Be Dead" or something like that. True stories about people in mind boggling situations where most would perish.

39. FAVORITE SOUND(S).
soft rain falling on the ocean; children laughing hysterically; fire crackling in the wood burning stove; & a guy at my door with a giant check telling me I just won the "Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes" (not that I've heard that, but I reckon it'd be my favorite sound EVER.

40. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Those two can NOT be compared, sheesh!

41. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
distance wise, Hawaii (I checked the miles) but I've lived in two other countries besides the US.

42. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
I do... it's called "keeping a secret."

43. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
I was born a poor black child........

44. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
please refer back to #'s 34 & 35

45. HOW DID YOU MEET YOUR SPOUSE/SIGNIFICANT OTHER?
A cell phone wielding, espresso drinkin' Buddha sealed the deal.

(if any of you do "copy" & post this with your own answers, please let me know, I'd love to read it)

Knock Knock

 (You know, come to think of it... my house is kinda creepy looking- okay, I know it's just this picture that makes it look creepy, but I kinda like it)

In 2000 I bought this house that I live in. Yes, it's a freakin' shack of a house, and I will be paying for it till I'm 93 in my next life- but it's mine damnit! Anyway, that year we ("we" being my (now) ex fiance (Brett) & I) bought it in the late winter (March I think), and planned to move in by May that year. The people we bought it from were building one of those pre-fab homes, but needed a place to live till the house was ready. What did we do? We rented the house back to them.

See, the downstairs has a studio apartment and a full basement, so we thought we'd just live down there for a month. Those pre-fab homes can go up in a matter of days, so we didn't really think anything of it- plus we were getting $ from them. So, we move into the studio apartment thinking that if we were going to do any renovations, what better way was there to figure out what was needed than to live in the space. Seemed like a good idea at the time.

May came and went, and so did June... July... August... and September..... you know what also came? Rain. Yes, it rained like every single day of the summer that year, for real. I think there were 4 sunny days in total. Not even kidding. So we were stuck living in a tiny, dark, damp, little space in our own house for about 6 months. To say this caused stress would be a HUGE understatement. Throw in the fact that for a few months our friend Bill and his dog, Kaya, were living with us too. Seriously tight quarters down there. All I wanted to do was unpack and get on with life.

I was sick of being asleep on my day off and having the wife of the couple upstairs waltz down to the basement and do laundry.  She'd flip on the overhead light (UGH!) and stomp down the stairs and be all like "oh! I didn't realize anyone was down here, sorry!"... then she'd continue over to the washer and dryer and start doing the laundry. Throw in the fact that every week they'd say "we're expecting to move out by the end of next week"... EVERY WEEK.

At the end of October 2000 we finally moved upstairs. Moved into a house that had no floors, just sub flooring; a kitchen sink that would leak a gallon of water every night (till we figured out it just needed a 5¢ washer replaced); a serious leak coming through the sub-floor of the bathroom into the basement (which we quickly, once in the main house, figured out was only because the idiot former home owners didn't properly caulk around the shower door and the water was dripping out of the shower, down the side of the tub, and through the floor; a bathroom sink that didn't work (because they failed to connect it- at all); windows that wouldn't open (because the idiots painted them shut); and some of the most ridiculous electrical wiring we had ever seen.

The first thing we did was start on the flooring so we could move furniture & everything else in.  Brett was fantastically handy with that sort of thing. For real, I don't think there was anything he couldn't build or fix, it was more than a little impressive. Getting him to actually FINISH all that he started, well, that's another story... I'm not gonna say anything bad about him though. I love that guy, seriously. He's one of the coolest people I know- still. Brett and I were just meant to be friends- everything beyond that was wishful thinking because we got along so well for so many years. We're still good friends. Anyway.. where was I? ....... Right... flooring. We went with Pergo® floors, "antique pine" to be exact.

One evening I decided to make a run to the grocery store. We were moving along quickly with the flooring, so I figured I had the chance to leave to get food. Upon arrival at the grocery store I noticed a cute little girl dressed like a princess. Not only did this not phase me in the least, but I kind of expected it. See, I know that sometimes kids want to wear stuff like that at random, but on this island where I live it's almost like it's a requirement for some of them. Like some freakish "crunchier than thou" code that many families follow here. I think they get made fun of by each other if any of their kid's socks actually match. Don't get me wrong, I am 110% behind self expression, imagination, and having fun... but I don't think it's cool to look down on others who don't follow that way of life. Believe me, it really is like that here.

So there I was with my cart, walking by the little princess, and heading for the deli section. What do I see? A stormtrooper. Not a child one, an adult one.... holding a bag of potatoes in one hand, and a lightsaber in the other. I remember thinking that was probably even faster than a microwave when you wanted a baked potato, but then just sorta stood there wondering what what going on.
After a stroll down by frozen foods, a brief interaction with a vampire that couldn't reach a box of Cheerios® on the top shelf of the cereal aisle, and a handful of zombies... I realized I was missing Halloween. How was this possible?! I had always LOVED Halloween. Most years I would start planning my costume no later than August... that year... I had other things on my mind. I quickly went to the aisle with candy and snatched up a few bags of Reeces Peanut Butter Cups and went to pay and get home.

I walked through the front door yelling for Brett, I couldn't believe we were missing Halloween. I ran to the basement and ripped open the box with kitchen stuff in it to find a large bowl so I could empty the candy into it, and then informed him I was putting it by the front door for when trick-or-treater's showed up. I went to the back of the house where the bedrooms are and continued with my job of putting clothes in the closest & drawers. Brett was out in the livingroom working on the flooring, and having a hell of a time because our saw had broken and he only had one other option...

5 silent minutes later I heard the sound of giggles and footsteps coming up the stairs to the front door.... and then I heard three noises all at the same time. A knock, a chainsaw, and blood curdling screams... then rapid footsteps racing down the stairs. I ran out to the livingroom to find Brett standing there with a chainsaw (his "one other option" till morning to get some more floor cut) laughing his ass off.

Apparently at the exact same moment that these kids were knocking on the front door, Brett had started the chainsaw and spun around to see what the knocking noise was.... mind you the front door is 1/2 window, you can totaly see into the house through it....honestly, if I was a kid, and I was greeted by that... yeah, I'd run away screaming too. I'd probably first piss myself, but I'd run like I was on fire. It could have made matters worse that Brett, especially that night, looked like a cast member of "The Devil's Rejects," (minus the blood, obviously). You know, where as normally he resembles a lost Allman Brother.

click to enlarge

So, you see, every year as Halloween approaches.... I usually don't bother buying candy. I KNOW we won't get trick-or-treater's here. On the years where I do have candy, for one reason or another, as soon as I leave the house, the first kid I see out with a parent gets the whole stash. I tell the parent why, but I just tell the kid it's 'cause they have the "Best. Costume. EVER!" It's a win/win.

This year, I am gonna buy some candy, it has been 10 years, and one never knows. Well, I'll either buy candy or borrow a chainsaw... you know... for another 10 or so more years of not having to answer the door on October 31st.

Call Me Crazy, But...

This is the story .......

of our Mothers and Grandmothers who lived in our lifetime.

 Remember, it was not until 1920 that women were granted the right to go to the polls and vote.

 

The women were innocent and defenseless, but they were jailed nonetheless for picketing the White House, carrying signs asking for the vote.

 

 

 (Lucy Burns)

...And by the end of the night, they were barely alive. Forty prison guards wielding clubs and their warden's blessing went on a rampage against the 33 women wrongly convicted of 'obstructing sidewalk traffic.'...

They beat Lucy Burns, chained her hands to the cell bars above her head and left her hanging for the night, bleeding and gasping for air.

(Dora Lewis)

They hurled Dora Lewis into a dark cell, smashed her head against an iron bed and knocked her out cold. Her cell mate, Alice Cosu, thought Lewis was dead and suffered a heart attack. Additional affidavits describe the guards grabbing, dragging, beating, choking, slamming, pinching, twisting and kicking the women.
Thus unfolded the 'Night of Terror' on Nov. 15, 1917, when the warden at the Occoquan Workhouse in Virginia ordered his guards to teach a lesson to the suffragists imprisoned there because they dared to picket Woodrow Wilson's White House for the right to vote. For weeks, the women's only water came from an open pail. Their food...all of it colorless slop...was infested with worms.

 (Mrs. Pauline Adams in the prison garb she wore while serving a 60 day sentence.)

 In 2004 HBO released the movie 'Iron Jawed Angels.' It is a graphic depiction of the battle these women waged so that they could pull the curtain at the polling booth and have their say. Most women will be ashamed to admit they need the reminder, but you should all watch it.

(Alice Paul)

When one of the leaders, Alice Paul, embarked on a hunger strike, they tied her to a chair, forced a tube down her throat and poured liquid into her until she vomited. She was tortured like this for weeks until word was smuggled out to the press. 

It is jarring to watch Woodrow Wilson and his cronies try to persuade a psychiatrist to declare Alice Paul insane so that she could be permanently institutionalized. And it is inspiring to watch the doctor refuse. Alice Paul was strong, he said, and brave. That didn't make her crazy.

The doctor admonished the men: 'Courage in women is often mistaken for insanity.'

(Miss Edith Ainge, of Jamestown, New York)

HBO has released 'Iron Jawed Angels' on video and DVD, & general consensus, among those who have seen it, is that all history, social studies and government teachers should include the movie in their curriculum. In fact show it ANYWHERE women gather. Obviously this isn't our usual idea of socializing, but we are not voting in the numbers that we should be... and to be honest... a little shock therapy is in order.

 (Helena Hill Weed, Norwalk , Conn.   Serving 3 day sentence in D.C. prison for carrying banner, 'Governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed.' )

The actual act of voting has become less personal for many in recent years -- more routine.  Frankly, voting often feels more like an obligation than a privilege. Sometimes it is even considered inconvenient.

 

Conferring over ratification of the 19th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution at  National Woman's Party headquarters, Jackson Place , Washington , D.C.Left to right: Mrs. Lawrence Lewis, Mrs. Abby Scott Baker, Anita Pollitzer,  Alice Paul, Florence Boeckel,  Mabel Vernon (standing, right))

So, refresh my memory.... Some women won't vote this year because - Why, exactly? You have carpool duties? You have to get to work? Out too late the night before? There's a marathon of your favorite tv show on? Our vote doesn't matter? It's raining? 

 Whether you vote democratic, republican or independent party - remember to vote. Otherwise you're insulting & disregarding all that the women before you have done.

*this post inspired by a recent email from a very good family friend ♥

Dear Me

How many times have you said, or even just thought, "I wish I could go back in time and tell myself a few things"? Or maybe you'd like to go back and prevent certain things from happening? Or maybe just speed other things up?

Yeah, I have those thoughts all the freakin' time... but tonight I came across this great website that takes it a step further... talking to your future self.

I totally did it, I wrote a letter to myself that I will not be able to read till 6 months from now... and I am more than a little interested to see where I'm at/what's going on in life, in my life. Did I predict certain thing correctly? Have I followed through on some of the items on the "to do/hope I did" list I made? 6 months from now I'll know.

I could have sent it to myself a year from now, or even just a day from now... or even YEARS from now... and I might just do that too. See, I am sorta thinking that if we document certain things, for ourselves, when the time comes to look back & reflect, maybe... just maybe, we won't wish we could go back in time. We might even be pleasantly surprised to see how on target we were/are. One never knows...

In the meantime, while I doze off and contemplate all this.... you should go there (HERE)and write yourself a letter. I honestly can't even remember all that I wrote, I just remember typing "PS. You're beautiful" ..... which is funny (slightly) because I'm hoping that in the future I might smile and believe it.... as opposed to hearing that annoying song by James Blunt play over and over in my head when the phrase "you're beautiful" is said/written/read/sung.

Good Thing Socks Are Stretchy

My feet are size 11 in the US, in the UK (depending on style) they are a 9 or 9 1/2, in European sizing they are a 42. If you wear a size anything from a size 10 (US) down... well.. I might just hate you a little, mostly due to extreme jealousy.
In first grade I could wear my Mother's shoes. I even remember wearing a pair of her knee high leather boots (it was the 70's, Mom wasn't a hooker) to school one day so I could walk there without getting my pants all wet from the snow that had fallen the night before... only problem was (ready? This is about to get REALLY REAL here) the zippers got stuck and when I left to go use the bathroom and couldn't unzip the boots, which were just tall enough to make it so I couldn't sit down on the toilet because they prevented my knees from bending properly, nor could I wedge my jeans over them far enough to sit down, I just sat down and peed, right through my jeans into the toilet. Yup. I was "Lil' Miss Peepee Pants" that day.

I knew it was "story time" in class and that all the students would be sitting around the big blue rectangular carpet listening to Ms. Lang (yes, I remember my 1st grade teacher's name) read a story to us. I peeked out of the bathroom door to see if anyone was in the hallway all secret agent style, saw the coast was clear, and rushed back to the classroom. I sat behind the last row of kids and bided my time till the bell rang. All the while devising my plan. It was snowing out again, kids would rush out of class to go play, so I figured I could go unnoticed.

As soon as the bell rang I stood up and backed up towards my desk, grabbed my coat, tied it around my waist, and hightailed it for the exit door closest to my path home. Once outside I went to put my coat on (it was snowing, it was Chicago, I wasn't stupid... well... not totally stupid) and felt the icy cold air hit my pee covered butt. Brrrrrrrrrrrr!! It was in that moment I knew I wanted a new longer winter coat.

I made it home in record time, and even paused to go sit in a snowbank thinking, in my genius 1st grade wisdom, that the snow might soak my jeans and get rid of the pee and I'd just look like a normal kid that had been playing in the snow. Did it work? In a word, no. I basically had soaking wet jeans, coated in pee & snow, with little peesicles forming. When I got home my mother greeted me at the door and helped me get the boots off, and it wasn't till later before dinner she asked me why her boots smelled like pee. I'm pretty sure I just shrugged... I'm also pretty sure she threw them out shortly thereafter.

I still borrowed my Mother's other shoes when she let me, and sometimes her clothes- specifically sweaters and jackets. By high school I had left my Mother's closet and moved into my Father's closet. Good thing baggy jeans were in style for a while there. I just took my Father's jeans for the length. Back then inseams on women's pants/jeans rarely went beyond 30"... and keep in mind the style was right at the ankle. A 32" inseam fit me right at the ankle. My Dad is 6'2"... his jeans, when worn at the hips, were just long enough to wear, taper, and roll. (Oh 80's... you bitch.)

As ugly as the clothes in the 80's were, I am kinda grateful that baggy, shapeless, and asymmetrical hems were all the rage... or I would have been screwed! I was 5'9 till Senior year of high school... and by the time I decided to leave for college I had managed to grow 2 inches. (Yes, it's true, even recorded on doctor's forms) I now stand at 5'11.

Let me tell you something, having size 11(US) feet and being 1" shy of 6' is no fucking cakewalk. I hear shorter people often say "oh I wish I was taller, I have to hem EVERYTHING!" Well, I would much rather feel the need to cut off than ADD ON.

It wasn't till fairly recently that the inseams of pants/jeans started growing beyond 32".... oddly enough because so many women want to wear heels of skyscraper proportions with them... where as me & my 35" inseam (I have seriously long stems) live in flip flops & Chuck Taylors.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE heels... love love love them, they however do not love me. Either they don't come in my size, claim to be my size but don't fit.., or they are astronomically expensive. (I'm talking to YOU Stuart Weitzman! You and your awesome, beautiful, drool worthy shoes that I will never afford... you dick.)

Throw in the fact that the LAST thing I need is more height and the idea of throwin' on a pair of 4" heels is just not something I do. Is it ironic that I find heels very comfortable and love wearing them? For real, I'll put on a pair, think I'm lookin' good, then some asshat feels the need to walk up to me and let me know (you know, in case I wasn't aware) just how tall I am. Why doesn't anyone stop and think about how they know it's rude to walk up to a short person and tell them quite bluntly "wow, you're really short!" (Or any other obvious attribute that a person might have.) yet tellin' me "woah, you're waaay tall!" isn't intended to make me uncomfortable in my own skin, or feel like an ogre, ... 'cause it does. I should say "it can"... sometimes I am able to just ignore the idjits and go on about my business... but let me tell you, that has taken years... and I'm still workin' on it. Maybe I should put an end date on that? Like I'll be cool with it all by March of 2023? Yeah, I'll go with that... check back with me periodically and we'll see where I'm at. M'kay?

Maybe by then designers will have grasped the concept that just because someone is tall it doesn't mean they have fucking gorilla arms.....

...in the meantime I will keep reminding myself, and all my friends, that the size on a tag should be used as merely a suggestion. I know for a fact that I can put on top in a size "L" from a place like The Gap and I will be swimming in it... but if I try a size "L" at a store like Express, 9 times out of 10 I get this:

That's a fucking hot look isn't it? Yeah baby. No, that is NOT me, but if i was in the dressing room at Express... it could be.

Same goes for pants/jeans/skirts... I only know one female that doesn't fear this.... the dreaded......

Muffin top: helping to sell Spanx® since 2000 (bless their non-existent VPL lil' hearts!)

The length of skirts is a whole other issue for me. Mini skirts are.. well... let's just say that some skirts are so short I gotta consider shavin' more than my legs to wear 'um.  I tried to find a good example of a skirt that is just too damn short, but I kept coming up with really trashy pictures of women so tiny they looked like Q-tips with eyes, and the skirts were just sorta trashy lookin'... but I did find one perfect example. I can't show you though.. it's just too... oh man... it's... ugh... ok... fine.... here it is:

(seriously, scroll quickly past this... it's pretty bad. Funny, but pretty bad. )

See? Sorry, hope you're eyes didn't just bleed or anything. Really though, who leaves the house like that? Who lets someone leave the house like that?! Whenever I come across a person dressed in an unfortunate manner I tend to feel really bad for them. Not even because they are dressed totally inappropriately, but because I am convinced they have no one in their lives that love them enough to say "dear god, DO NOT go out dressed like that!"
Kinda like that TV show "American Idol"... you ever watch the auditions for that? (The only part of the show worth watching really)... who lets their friends or family go do that when they suck that badly? It's horrible! Fun as hell, but horrible.

Don't get me wrong, I'm no fashion plate. I can pick out a fake Prada bag in a crowd, and tell you why a $300 Armani button down shirt is going to be far superior to one from Old Navy... but I'm still sittin' here in my livingroom wearing an old pair of jeans and a giant wool fisherman's sweater that is so big I could fit two other people in here with me... which might be nice, 'cause it's cold and I'm barefoot.... because I can't find cute shoes that fit.

It Hurts So Good

It all started years ago when I was like 15 years old.....

We were sitting around in my friend Karl's living room, while his mom was in the hopo giving birth to a baby boy... 11 lb 6oz if I remember correctly (he was a ridiculously huge baby)... we didn't know what to do with ourselves... so we decided to give each other tattoos.

Trust me when I tell you NONE of them were awesome, none of them amazing, and all of them truly stupid... but we did it anyway. I only remember mine and the one my friend Kristina ended up with. I got a small rose on my forearm, she decided to tattoo "Pink Floyd" on her arm... only Kristina was not in the "right" state of mind that afternoon and tattooed "Fink Ployd", true story. Later, either that night or a day later (it has been over 20 years since this all went down, minor details are fuzzy) she attacked her own arm with salt and a wet wash cloth and scrubbed till it became a big bloody "Fink Ployd" free zone. I kept my flower. It's faded now, VERY faded... but it serves a purpose for me. Not only a memory of youth, and stupid decisions, but Karl (with his girlfriend Jen) was killed a few years later by a drunk driver. This faded little rose is my reminder of Karl.


I remember thinking back then that he and I would be friends for life, that we would both always be around... I was wrong. That is why I keep the ugly little tattoo on my arm that most people don't even notice since it's faded so much over the years. Those that do notice it usually have to ask "what's that?"... or my favorite "what's that say?", to which I reply "it says "it's a rose." In my head I think "it's a memory of Karl."

There is only one tattoo in the world that I would be willing to cover that rose with... but I'm just not ready for it yet. (I'm keeping it to myself in regards to what I would get there, because the tattoo would be for me, not you, ya know?) I know this because every year as the anniversary of his death draws closer (Nov 2nd) I find myself feeling very melancholy and sort of on the verge of tears for no apparent reason. It happens every year... every year since he died.

(this would be what the one on my leg looked like years AFTER it was done a 2nd time, and the red ink on the stem is just from a pen)

The next tattoo came along the summer when I was 15 after I let some crazy ass skin head named Justin, in Hyannis MA, tattoo (with an actual tattoo gun) the outline of a large rose, that my friend Abby drew, on the side of my calf. It was a far cry better than the one on my arm (& way bigger), but it still wasn't great. Years later when I was 19 my Mother couldn't take it anymore and told me to go get it fixed. I went to a tattoo shop in Norwalk CT and some guy there gave it color and shading etc... but the truth is, it still wasn't all that great. Cut to about 15 years later and I am sitting outside the local tattoo shop in town and the guy who owns the shop (who at the time was a good friend of mine, now... well... no.) .... I stare down at my leg and look up at him and say "what do you think? redo or remove?" He says "I was just thinking the same thing, come inside." 10 minutes later he's got the tattoo gun going on my leg.

When he was done..... I had this:

Way better, eh? Yeah, I didn't love it (specifically the white outline that made it look like it was a sticker, that shit took years to fade)... but... it meant more to me that someone (at the time) I considered a good friend had done it. Doesn't matter to me that were not friends any longer, it matters that we were back then. Don't get me wrong, he did a fantastic job, he's a VERY good tattoo artist, and he's done others for me, and redone another tattoo on the back of my neck and did a fabulous job on all of them.

(before)

 (& after)

There were other tattoos before that one was redone, quite a few... I've lost count honestly .. but all of them are in places that I could easily cover with hair (which once hung to my waist), clothes, or jewelry, plus my back was the only "canvas" I was saving... saving it for a flower garden... so there was very little back there until my big brother Mike (who is not blood related, but is totally my big brother) gave me the flower garden of my dreams. 

My only stipulations? "no bright red, cover the turtles (*they were the turtles from the cover of "Terrapin Station" in the middle of my back) & no "real" flowers... just make 'um up... " ... and that's what Mike did. 

I will eternally love this tattoo, and not even because it took almost a year to complete. (He lives an 8hr drive away, and while it technically only took 3 sessions of about 5 or 6 hours each, there was one hell of a fiasco, which I might very well post on this blog someday that makes me laugh now in retrospect, that prolonged the finishing of the tattoo) Not even because it's awesome (it totally is, Mike is an incredible artist)... but it's my constant reminder that Mike has always got my back... and he's one of the very few men in my life that have ever given me flowers. Funny that one... all but one of my tattoos (not including ones with words) have flowers in them... it should be a dead give away that I LOVE FLOWERS....but many guys are freakin' idiots, moreover many of the guys I've dated are idiots. (In fact, with the exception of my ex fiance, and "The Jerk" (yes, that IS my pet name for him, and it's said with ♥), they all were idiots)... Anyway... this is a before/after for ya (granted there is like over a 2 yr lapse between photos)

(before)

(after... duh)

I haven't gotten any more since Mike finished my back, but I do plan to get one removed (the one over the wreath at the back of my neck above the words "je suis prest")... and I am pretty sure that rose on my leg is gonna get covered... and I am also pretty sure what I want covering it is a sugar skull.....

(not this one, even though it's totally bad ass, but I just wanted to put up a picture of one for anyone reading this (is anyone reading this?!) that didn't know what a sugar skull was)

 

(You know you can click on any picture and enlarge it, right?.. ok.. just a lil' FYI if ya didn't know)

Wait.. that's a lie, I did get one other... but it's not there anymore (?!).. my friend Rocco did a tiny little heart on the inside of my arm, but apparently my skin was in the same frame of mind as my soul at the time and completely rejected it. Seriously, all the color popped out and I have what looks like a tiny burn mark on my inner arm. I like to tease Rocco & tell him he "gave me heart burn."... and .. oh! right...then (oh man, I keep forgetting about the tiny lil' ones... my friend Gemma gave me one I was wanting for ages... a very simple little "X"... as in "X marks the spot" behind my ear.. you know, in the "sweet spot"... that place that when the one you're with kisses you there it makes you all weak kneed. Yeah, I always felt some of them could use the helpful tip.

(yes, I know it looks kinda wonky, but it's actually perfectly done... just an odd camera angle and the cream on it -since it had just been done a min. before the pic was taken- that distort the pic a bit)

So... why did I write this? What was the point? Well, tattoos have been on my brain lately because a friend of mine recently mentioned that she'd like to get one of hers covered... she's 20.. the tattoo is only 2 years old... and it's not a bad one, it's just not "her" any longer. 

   I think this is the problem with almost everyone that doesn't hold off a few years. Yeah, the legal age is 18... but... please trust me when I tell you that there is a 99% chance you will regret a decision you make at 18 when it comes to tattoos. (Thank fucking god I didn't sneak away at 13 to get Duran Duran lyrics on my arm!) Plus, they're super addicting (trust me on that one too!) I fully wish I never got that rose on my leg to begin with, and that wasn't even done by a professional the first time... well... he was a professional freakin' weirdo, that's for sure... but what did I know? I was just a stupid kid... now I'm just a sometimes stupid adult. The difference isn't so much the age as much as the years between then and now and all that I have learned.... but according to a story with a phrase I've loved since childhood that I had tattooed on my inner wrist, I'm not done yet:

"Ancora Imparo" (I am still learning.)

(at age 87 in 1562)

- Michelangelo

...... and that's all I have to say about any of that..... for now.

wait, I lied.. I have one last thing to say... a few years back I was doing a manicure for this woman (because I used to run my own business doing mani/pedis- legally thankyouverymuch) and she says "your tattoo is upside down, why?" 

I look at her and say "upside down? what do you mean?"

She replies "well I can't read it."

I just laughed at her and said "well, that's okay... 'cause I didn't get it for you, I got it for me."

I hope no one ever gets one for someone else, you will regret it....and PLEASE never put someone's name on you, specifically a significant other... it's basically the kiss of death for any relationship. Ask anyone that has done it. (* no, I was never THAT dumb.)

~~~*********************************~~~

Should anyone reading this want to get a kick ass tattoo, one you will NOT regret because you have given it much thought and consideration....

Go see Mike "Deuce" at Tattoo Kamikaze in Rochester NY (actually, ALL the people that work there are phenomenal, and you'd be damn lucky to have any of them tattoo you)

check 'um out: they have a facebook page

&/or Jeff Gemma @ Secret Society Tattoo in Worcester, MA: Secret Society has a facebook page as well.

I'd also highly recommend Stephan Lanphear in Pittsfield, MA @ Lefty's World Famous Tattoo, 'cause holy crap he's amazing! (and a really sweet guy)