deeples

Post #140. Well, really it’s 204. Not really that either.

September8

So, my counter says this is post #204.  Except I didn’t move all my blogs over.  Just the ones that I didn’t totally hate.  Even some of those, I guess….   but this is the 140th blog that exists solely on this webpage.

La dee dah.

I understand from blurking elsewhere that there is something of a tradition that a blogger, for their 100th blog, makes a list of 100 things about themselves that they think are interesting or notable.  It’s just sort of… RAAAAALG… if you get me.  I mean, blogs are inherently narcissistic and self-indulgent but 140 interesting things about me?  Please.  PLEASE.

(You repeated that out loud to yourself, didn’t you?  It’s ok.  Me, too. Really, there are few things that you will find obnoxious about me that I don’t already find obnoxious about myself… and if you have a THING you remember about me – a time I said too much or laughed too hard or made a total jackass out of myself, REST ASSURED that I remember that time, that THING, too.  Don’t think for one minute that I didn’t sit on the toilet with my head in my hands chant-whispering…”Why..why… why would you do that? Why? That was so dumb… Ugh”, afterward.  I may be an idiot sometimes, but I am a fairly self-aware idiot. Bygones.)

Ok, so what else can I do?  14 lists of 10?  7 lists of 20?  Slam my head on my desk 140 times?

How about just words?  140 words. One word for every blog I have ever uniquely published here on my sweet, blushing deeples.com…

& you

deranged

babies & teenagers

lists & friends & photos

& hate & love &

politics & religion & bong-bong bells

doctors & pocket music

& tears & confusion & wishes & hope

flavors you are supposed to savor

ones you pretend to not notice

just a taste, a crumb, a tongue run long the back of a spoon

of me

the part I can share

the part that sustains me more by giving it away

than by keeping it.

sympathize, empathize

commiserate, justify

judge

me

judge

you

churning stomach, wincing words

hoping you will read between the words

even when there is silence in that space

vomit

poo

bunnies

pride

those beautiful eyes of yours.

that funny laugh of yours.

they way you bring me down

& lift me up

much to my embarrassment

either way.

Yes, I mean you.

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Boysenberry Poundcake, Jerkface!

August5

If my daughter had a hero, a GREAT LOVE… it would be Strawberry Shortcake. She owns several things (that I am sure were sanctioned by Strawberry, herself) like: Strawberry Blowup Thingy ala Minnesota State Fair ’07 and Strawberry socks and Strawberry books. But the great love, the THING THAT MAKES TIME ITSELF STOP (if time= screaming tired toddler wailing, “BABY! BABY! BABY!”. Rinse. Repeat.) is her hair.

Our darling girl has a bit of a “hair fetish” which probably has nothing or everything to do with the fact that I have long hair but WHATEVER… and will now only go to sleep while holding hair of some sort, which is right up there with other brilliant parental decisions like the time I decided to cut The Teen’s hair (back when he was 7 years old) at midnight when I was dead on my feet and almost cut one of his ears off. And yes, there was blood and crying. Yes. I know. Go ahead and gloat now over your fantastical parentitude. Just WAIT. Your time will come.

ANYWAY, Kory got the brilliant idea of buying a doll that has hair that The Baby can hang on to while she falls asleep and he bought her this:

And it was an actual miracle.

She LOVED this Strawberry baby and her tons of Strawberry hair and her Strawberry scent.

After much loving and twisting and grabbing and slobbering, she looks more like this, now.

Except without the rapper/millionaire husband and yachts and shit.

So, when I decided to go Mild Wild a few weeks ago and add some pinky/purpley/reddish stripes to my hair, The Baby was immediately interested.

Had Mommy, in fact, moved to the Berrypatch?

Was she berry, berry happy to be making new berry friends in Strawberry Land?

This is Strawberry Shortcake, kids:

This is her bio:

Strawberry Shortcake is a berry sweet , spunky red-haired girl with enough optimism to fill a strawberry field! She believes things are growing better all the time, and puts her heart into all she does! No wonder she has so many berry good friends!

This is MY new persona…

This is her bio:

Boysenberry Poundcake (or Boyz, to her friends) is a latecomer to Strawberry Land. She is a 37 year old throwback with a newly developed tic in her right eye! She can’t remember if she should take potassium for that or NOT take potassium so she is avoiding bananas, which is her natural inclination, anyway. Boyz does not concern herself with tea parties and sleepovers like Blueberry Muffin and Apple Dumplin’. In fact, Boysenberry and her big ass would just as soon read a good book and have a berry nice evening cocktail.

Like all good inhabitants of Strawberry Land, Boysenberry Poundcake has her own pet! Strawberry Shortcake has her kitty Custard and her doggie Pupcake!

This is Boysenberry’s pet:

As you may have guessed, Boysenberry Poundcake likes to project a berry “Don’t Fuck With Me” image.

…………..

Most characters in Strawberry Land also have accessories! Like backpacks! And brushes! And tea sets!

These are Boysenberry Poundcake’s accessories:

All the berry good friends in Strawberry Land have a few enemies like The Purple Pieman and Sour Grapes.

Boysenberry Poundcake only truly fears one villian:

CREME BUSHE!

Fortunately, his character is scheduled to be canceled in less than 6 months!

Boyz is berry, berry pleased with that. She’s hoping the newest member of the BerryPatch will be:

I’m splitsies on the Universe.

July28

What’s your opinion on the Universe and “timing”?

I mean, has it been your experience that it’s all that good at the timing thing?

Giving people the right opportunities at the right time?

Making people meet one another at the right time?

Sending pain or passion or strength or weakness at just the right time? A time when there will be comfort and returned passion and humility and arms to hold you up?

I’m splitsies.

There are clear moments in my life when I feel like something with more collective wisdom than I has arranged the furniture of my life to force me to walk down a hallway instead of making toast in the kitchen, thereby changing my life, forever.   There are equally clear times in my life where I felt like a giant hammer looking for a nail in a sea of paperclips.  Times where the right people came into my life at the wrong time.  Times where the wrong opporunity happened at exactly the right time for me to make a change.  A time where a newly discovered skill or desire or skillful desire suddenly made itself apparent and JESUS CHRIST, NO, I am not talking about blow jobs. GOD!  What I mean is that a lot of times, what people desire… what they love to do… isn’t exactly what they are also good at.  (Case in point:  the 40 bajillion horrid tone-deaf sad-sacks that audition for American Idol every season…)

Conversely, there are the things we are inherently really good at, but sort of can’t stand.  For example, I am actually pretty good at reading people’s current mood/feelings.  I can spot someone who is feeling shitty, angry, low, pissy or ill about a mile away.  The problem is that rather than soothing those people and leaving them alone, I am somewhat prone to provoking them.  I can’t explain it… I never feel like I set out to do it, but I’m sort of a dick when I know what I know.   I will not be swayed when I’m sure I’m right. 

What a dick.

Me: Heeeeey… what’s up? Having a bad day?

Random person: No. I’m good!

Me: Hmm. Uh-huh.  Reeeeeeeally.

Random person: What?! No! I’m fine.

Me: Uh huh.  FINE. People who are fine do not describe themselves as “FINE”.

Random person: WHAT?  No, seriously.  I’m doing f…. great. I’m great.

Me: You know, you don’t have to lie to me.  I totally understand if you feel like hell.

Random person: But………. I don’t!

Me: You do.

Random person: But….  there is no way you could know that.

Me: It’s a gift.

Random person: I really was fine until I talked to you…

Me: Sorry. It’s a terrible gift that I have…

Random person: *hisses*

Me: It’s a great goddamed gift.

So, what I am saying is… what if the Universe can’t HEAR THE BEAT?

What if it give us all wonderful things… wonderful abilities… but has NO IDEA WHAT TIME THE PARTY STARTS?

What if it gives a woman living in Manhattan in 2005 the ability to churn butter and make pork cracklins’ like they’ve never been made before?

What if it gave a Neanderthal Man* the ability to read and write code faster than the faster software developer?

What if a man in the 1600’s was actually the most amazing cinematographer ever born on this earth?

What if a little girl in 2008 knew, instinctively, how to cure The Plague?

What if I somehow know amazing and life-changing shit if I’d just been born in another place and time?

What if the thing, THE GIFT, is something that I’ve never tried?

  • flying airplanes
  • porn (acting, directing and/or executive producing)
  • conquering of nations

Or things I super hate and therefore have tremendous aversion to?

  • golf pro
  • cult leader
  • professional egg-eater

WHAT IF, HAD THE PLANETS PROPERLY ALIGNED I COULD HAVE BEEN A WORLD-FAMOUS MASTER EGG EATER, FILTHY RICH PORN QUEEN, LPGA LEADING, PLANE-FLYING, DICTATOR AND/OR COMPOUND RULER?

Oh, fer christ’s sake… stop cringing.

I’m not sayin’……  I’m just sayin’.

*”Neanderthal Man” is pronounced NEE-ANDER-TALL MAN  not NEE-ANDER-THAL MAN. Per Alex Trebec, you do not pronounce the “th” sound rather, it’s a hard “T” sound.  Also per Trebec is the fact that “Barcelona” (Spain) is, in fact, pronounced BARTH-A-LOW-NUH…notBARSE-A-LOW-NUH.  Go ahead.  Freak out a little.  Trebec and I are not interested in your archaic hang-ups.  Get with the program. Or as we like to say in The Industry.. Doo doo doo doo… doo doo doo… doo doo…doo doo DOO! Dah doo doo doo doo….

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