Tag Archives: gifts

All that happened today

It’s a blog, I can afford to be self-indulgent. I did very little today. I watched the end of “Eat, Pray, Love” which did very little for me. There was nothing about it to recommend, except a desirable Brazilian man. It’s rare to hear the word “Brazilian” any more when it doesn’t have to do with making a grown woman’s pee pee look like a slow developing twelve year old girl. I saw him; I heard it. But it’s not worth the hours you need to watch to get to him.

I went to get Small for lunch today. It’s my new habit. She was throwing away her bag lunch. She really wanted to eat school lunch. We didn’t like the expense (actually, I didn’t mind it, how does $2.00 break the bank?) and didn’t like the meals that continually featured french fries and other “bad” things. I suggested I bring her home for lunch. B and Small practically cheered at the suggestion. So now I have my day sliced in half.

I set an alarm to remind me to go get her. I peel her away from her place in the lunch line and we come home. Today she had rigatoni with marinara sauce and two glasses of milk. No real veggies and fruits. But better. She says she likes it better because she gets to spend more time with me. I will try to love this as it lasts.

After lunch I walk her back. This is where the drama began. I can’t tell you exactly what happened: I promised her I wouldn’t. It had to do with the girl she gave the “BFF” 1/2 necklace last week. As I said, I can’t tell you the details, but it involved…. never mind, I promised I wouldn’t.

Shortly after school we went over to T’s house. T is a luscious, red haired sixty-something woman who happens to be one of my best friends. T is easy to spend three hours on her back porch swapping stories. She and three of her old-lady friends are putting a show on for the talent show and she asked me to direct. (Which I believe was merely a scheme to get me out of the house.) I was the most best of all directors in the whole world and made a grand total of three suggestions. They were adorable.

(I also know T is an avid reader of my blog. Much of what I said above was for her benefit. It also is true.)

Then, it became time for T to give away many of her worldly goods. I wound up with a whole bunch of beautiful things, purple runners, plates bowls. I could give a laundry list of all her beautiful cast offs, but I will not. You would probably be, (a) disinterested, or (b) jealous.

We met my mother for dinner at a chain Chinese restaurant. I was starving, as I ran out of “Weight Watcher’s Plus, Plus Points” so I’ve been eating vegetables, and couldn’t find any more of them on the black market. I guess I just don’t know the right people, or the right websites. There are some “Canadian” sites, but I don’t trust anything not made in the States.

Later my mom and I went to Sally Beauty and found a new haircolor for me. I am pretty tired of being 35 and being dissatisfied with the way I look. I’ve always had very good hair – thick, coarse, wavy. For some reason the last two years I’ve been obsessing over it. I change my hair color every 2-3 months. I like it red. It was an orangey color that I loved loved loved that no one else did. I feel like I have red hair, something in my soul has red hair and I don’t feel like myself without it. My natural color is slightly tinged with red.

We walked in to the shop and my daughter immediately walked to the hair swatches and said, “This one is mine.”  Upon closer inspection, she had found a color exactly the color of her hair.  Maybe she has a career as a colorist in her future.

My mom helped me find my latest color.  It promises to be a gold/red color, but I don’t know when I am going to apply it.  It’s frustrating and exciting to wait.  I want good color for my daughter’s birthday party because there are going to be pictures.  I can’t stand the dark purpley color I have right now.  I know it’s not about me, but to be honest, I believe most peoples world’s are about themselves.

We came home and Small was beside herself with tears.  She was acting very upset, in fact she was acting like she was sick.  No fever.  Was sad.  She kept going over and over again that she, “didn’t get anything.”  I thought she meant T’s Grand Give-Away.  Small had played with a kaleidoscope there and was disappointed she didn’t get to take it home.  I thought that was it.  (This is not an attempt to get you to give the kaleidoscope to Small.  Do not give your kaleidoscope away, please.)

Sure, that was a part of it but the real deal was what happened at school.  Not only did she feel things were unfair, she also felt betrayed.  When I think about my life as a little girl, I have memories and I still feel this sting of betrayal, sometimes.  I wonder if she senses that I am just a few steps away from feeling like that again.

Anyway, she is in bed now, sleeping.  I wrote through “Sherlock” and I’m writing through “Freaks and Geeks”. I am not smart of enough to identify with Sherlock nor humble enough to identify with Dr. Watson.  I didn’t have good enough friends to identify with any Freak or Geek.

Enough until tomorrow

From Sherlock:

“You don’t seem very afraid”
“You don’t seem very frightening.”


Late nights

I was up before one today.  I was sent to bed at 9, but stretched it to 9:30, because I had Christmas stuff to do.  The presents feel like a train wreck.  My sister-in-law was madly and completely in love with this guy in Michigan.  She was prepared to move out there so they could be closer and live together.  The whole thing ended in her calling the police and changing her phone number.

We (I) bought her this adorable tea set, it fits for two, which, of course, would be totally acceptable.  Now, it would just be rubbing her face in it.  She is the type of person who would take that quite seriously and be extremely put out and pissed off by it.  So no tea-pot for her.

Back to being asleep by nine.  Mr. Malakoa came home from school, only to find a quite perky wife.  I wasn’t bounding off the walls, but he was seeing signs of hypo-mania.  I hate it when he does that.  I feel like I know myself, thank you very much, and I have the right to determine what I do and how I handle it.  The worst thing about it is that I am wrong and he is right.  Sleep is a great way to treat all the phases of bipolar.  It’s easier to do so when depressed, but when I’m manic, when I have trouble falling asleep, it’s still possible.  Needing less sleep, for example, getting up at 1 o’clock, is a sign of hypo-mania.  So Mr. Malakoa is right.  And that annoys me.

(Feeling like I’m over-using commas today.)

I’m working on a book about my grandmother.  She was an extra-ordinary person.  She was well loved, admired and a beautiful person.  When she was young she looked like Gloria Swanson.  She went to Hooters and said she didn’t mind it because when she was younger she looked better than (the waitresses).  I believe she probably did.  They must have made quite a couple, he was dashing and she was gorgeous.  They must have caused a ruckus where every they go.

There are two of the grandchildren who caught those beautiful genes.  My cousin, L, and my brother, J.  L looked like one of the girls off of “American’s Top Model”.  My brother gets asked for his autograph when he’s in L.A.  The rest of us are not necessarily ugly, but we are probably average to slightly above average.  Some obnoxious person once told me, “you’re beautiful on the inside, and that’s what counts.”  It ticked me off.  I believe she was comparing me to one of Mr. M’s ex-girlfriends.  The ex-girlfriend was psycho, though.  And she cheated on him.  And it’s the inside that counts.

Am I rambling?  I feel like I am.  But, it’s my blog and I’m free to do whatever I want to do, and write whatever I want to write.  My printer has been broken for a long time and I am frustrated by that.  I wrote two beautiful letters to my grandfather and great aunt and uncle and I’d like to be able to print them out, as they are a part of their Christmas presents.  I don’t want to wait.  I wrote such a letter to my grandma and it was in transit the day she died.  Everyone else read the letter, without my permission.  They read it at her funeral.  I hope that my grandfather and great aunt and uncle don’t think they’re dying and that’s why I wrote the letter.  I don’t want any part of that.

Well, that’s all for tonight. I have a precious friend who has offered to help keep up the blog for me.  I truly appreciate her help.  Look forward to hearing from her.