The code! The CODE? Ummmm....

It was a gloriously dazzling morning Friday last...the birds were chirping, the sun was glistening...I had had that first cup of black tar (aka: my kinda coffee)...
I went skipping (not really) to the back door to let my lovely Roxy dog outside to tend to her morning 'duties' and her never ending squirrel patrol.
As I opened the door---all heck broke loose.
WHOOOOP! WHHOOOOP!
(Oh...SH*T! I had forgotten to turn off the security system!)
I scrambled as best I could, in my '(F)Uggs'----Fake Uggs---and luscious pink furry bathrobe, to the punch pad thingy for the alarm.
(It was lit up all green and flashing for me.)
The code? WHAT was the freakin' CODE to turn off the system???!!!
Automatically I dial in my ATM card pin number...the alarm was still going...and no money came out of the wall---DARNIT!
WHOOOOP! WHOOOOP! WHOOOOP!
(holy cow I am going to wake the neighbors!)
I dial in what I THINK is the code---and tah-dah! Grace under pressure wins again!
(and none of my 3 kids woke up!...which then worried me because they could sleep through gunfire if they had slept through THAT alarm!)
I went in to the kitchen to reheat my tar/coffee...and the phone rings.
It was the security company calling to see if everything was ok, if I was who I said I was...and (get this!) 'yes,ma'am...could you please tell me the secret password for your system?...'
Ummm. Secret password? WHAT secret password...????
With some hints from the kind customer service guy...I got it...sort of.
(He said, 'well, what you said is a form of the word, so, that's OK...')
About 45 minutes later...as I am doing the 'get-your-shoes-on-you-have-to-go-to-school' dance with my 5 year old....there is a knock on the door.
TWO cop cars are parked in front of my home...TWO!
I went outside to speak with the kind officers with there crispy uniforms...and guns.
Doing my best June Cleaver, southern belle, eyelash batting...I explained what had happened while letting out the dog...
They still wanted to see my ID.
(Super! Now all the neighbors were wondering why TWO cops are at my door...)
So,apparently, I checked out alright for them...I was me...and then?
They liked my landscaping and perennials so much, we had a nice little chat about pesticide-free gardening!
(Who knew!)
At least THEY did not ask me for a code word...

What IS in a name?

My kids have as new stepsister with an 'unusual' name...so, I had to post this...(This was written, by me, in February of 2009.)
A friend of mine recently introduced me to his dog 'Lucky'...
( a potential 'friend' for my' babe of a foxy beagle mix',Roxy---although she has not approved him on her 'Dogbook')
Lucky's name got me to thinkin'---(yes, I do that a lot...but then, I can find the humor in just about everything...it's bad!)
Whenever you name a dog, cat or child---you need to first see how it will play out when you call them from across the yard....
Apparently, when I adopted Zeus...our beloved 125 pound SPCA special husky/Akita/border collie mix...I was, clearly, not thinking in such a manner. He was black and white, one blue eye, one soulful brown eye, big husky plume tail...and he had a white streak---which looked like lightening---right down the middle of his big dog forehead.
Lightening...powerful...hmmm. AH! Yes! 'ZEUS' King of the gods...PERFECT!
(and then down the road I could adopt another dog and call him 'APOLLO'...wait. Aren't those the names of Magnum PI's dogs? I miss Tom....)
Not that 'Zeus' was not a perfect name for the perfect dog---aka: 'Zeusy boy', 'Juice', 'Big Dog' and 'Trailer Dog'( when he licked the utensils in the dishwasher)...as well as the shared names of many dogs: 'Get down!' and 'No No Bad Dog!'
The problem came with the greeting: 'Hey ZEUS!'...which sounds just like 'Jesus' in Spanish...and living where I do, with a large Spanish speaking population...I was apparently calling on the Almighty One like an evangelical on a Sunday morning...
'Zeus' also sounds like 'YOU'...as in 'Zeus! COME!'...this leads to many sheepish explanations to neighbors walking by thinking perhaps you have Turrets (sp) syndrome...'hi...uh, sorry...I wasn't calling to you...I was..uh...calling our dog...Have a great day---your lawn is beautiful! Do you fertilize?"
Some dogs don't ever get an 'official' name.
My dad's fraternity in college had a house dog named 'Dammit'...Maybe his name was 'Earl'...and they just shortened it because 'Dammit' always preceded the 'Earl' part?
('Dammit Earl! Give me back that can!')
Anyway, the dog was actually in the Fraternity picture line up---had his own studio portrait next to all the Delts---so, he was very well thought of despite his unfortunate nickname.
People who name cats have to be careful as well...when 'Captain Sweet Cheeks' escapes the confines of the home, no one wants to be outside making kissy noises and saying--out loud---'Captain Sweeeeeetcheeeeks...come on boy!' followed by more kissy noises...the neighbors will be putting you on the 'freak list' because Jesus and 'Captain Sweet Cheeks' are living in your home!
This can also lead to much consternation, and confusion, in a marriage, as some men inevitably think THEY are 'Captain Sweet Cheeks'...
I believe there should be a rule for naming pets...they should have FULL names.
We have 'Roxy Von Bacheler' aka: 'Roxy the Foxy Beagle mix'...our cat 'Sylvia Wallace Bacheler'. (Wallace is my maiden name... but in catspeak it really means Sylvia...'slayer of all mice/ninja kitty/tail chasing bird whisperer'...Bacheler.) I have also had a lab named 'Sir Brewster of the Highlands'...beloved cats 'Jesse of the James'....aka: 'Juice Toes' and 'Prince Charles of Richelieu'. Then there was 'Signore Luca di Pavoratti' aka: 'Cow Kitty'. We have also had a hamster: 'Mr. Snuggles'...(poor Mr. Suggles...my mother in law held him so tight his eyes were popped out...he was never right after that.)
...it's all about respect really. Honor your pets and they will honor you---except the cats...they live by their own rules.
I love names that have a meaning...take into account anything French: Jolie, Joie,Vivian...Indian names a la 'Dances with Wolves'...Tutanka...etc. Maybe you have run across such names...
Children, like pets, cannot escape the name game either.
They are at the mercy of their parents/captors.
I have actually heard of a girl whose name is Candi (with an 'i'---probably w/ a smiley face or heart on top of the 'i') CANE! Candi Cane? Seriously? Why would a parent do this to a child? It inevitably set her up for crude prepubescent joking...
Same thing with people who are named 'Bob Roberts'. What? Couldn't think of anything else, mom and dad? Robert Roberts? Well, I guess there is a little less guessing in the 'first name last, last name first' scenerio. (and I mean no disrespect to any 'Bob Roberts', 'Tom Thomas', 'Pete Peters' people out there, or their parents!)
Of course this leads to my thoughts on people whose last names really ARE a first name: Thomas, Jackson, James...so, do they name them a LAST name for the FIRST name? (Ex: Smith Thomas, Jones Jackson, Clayton James...) This is confusing for everyone---especially the roll-takers. I'm just sayin'....
For offspring, in particular, the last name is a big deciding factor...no you don't want to name your son 'Richard Johnson'...or for a girl who comes from the well connected 'Butte' clan...'Fanny Butte'...no good. They will suffer the same fate as Candi Cane.
I am also amused by parents who name their kids after fruits, inanimate objects, seasons,or months of the year.'Apple'...'Stone'---which is actually pretty cool...'Summer' or 'May'---whose birthday is in December...(again, no disrespect to anyone with those names!)
Flower names have always been around---'Violet', 'Rose','Daisy'...however, I do think 'Viola' and 'Petunia' may be pushing it...although they should all remain in the running for pet names...
Human names and pet names do cross over well...as well as 'verb names'...'Chase', 'Skip', 'Jett'
(---which if I had had a boy this last time, was the name I had picked out...mainly because he would have been an athlete, for sure, and it sounds great on a loudspeaker: "Touchdown! Jett Bacheler!'...which, then, would have landed him a job in sportscasting..."This is Jett Bacheler reporting from the Yankees training camp. Back to you in the studio.")
AND, by the way, we can all thank the breeders who came up with the name 'Shiitzu'...gave us all an excuse to say a naughty word when we were little! C'mon, you know you did it too!You got the same thrill---just as my son did when he spelled 'association' in spelling review---
'A-S-S...(snicker snicker)..o...c-i-a-t-i-o-n.' hahaha!
OK. So back to 'Lucky'....
It's a great name! Perfect for this dog! Adopted. Loved. Healthy.= Lucky!
Here is what I was thinking about...
This is the set up:
My friend and his wife are at the grocery store, in the check out line...chatting while the cashier rings them up...(friend and wife are actually talking about picking the dog up at the vet.)
'Sweetie, are you going to go pick up the kids?'
'Yeah sure...after I go get Lucky...' (cashier looks up....thinking, 'that rat talkin' about gettin some strange with his wife standin' right here...')
'How long will that take...???'...(cashier looks down thinks,'Lord Jesus...she doesnt MIND?..buncha heathens.')
'I think about an hour---she said he'd be ready for me when I get there...shouldn't take too long.'
(cashier gives them both condescending, dirty look...Stares holes in their foreheads with her eyes.)
hahhah!
See! You have to be careful when naming pets and kids!...or have quick explainations handy!!!
...and yes, my married name used to be 'Mrs. Bacheler'...oh the irony...!!!

When life was 'easy'...

The Summer of 1978...I was 13.
Our house was in the North End of Virginia Beach...the 'real' beach...one block from the ocean.
The only other homes around us were huge old beach cottages---family owned for generations, little bungalow houses with screened in porches...nothing more than 2 stories high...
every driveway was either compacted sand and oyster shells or gravel.
We never wore shoes...the soles of our feet were like leather.
We had one window unit for air conditioning in the dining room/kitchen---no one had central air then...and your floor fan was your friend.
I used to sleep with my window open...late at night I could hear the ocean, after the traffic died down on Atlantic Avenue.
The birds and I usually woke up around 9am...watched a bit of happy Days and Leave It To Beaver re-runs...eating my bowl of Special K (with whole milk), drinking my OJ, and having a cake donut.
The back door was open, and the cat hung out on the screened porch.
Our loud next door neighbors began a chorus of yelling back and forth---you always knew what they were doing...like it or not.
Mom was a teacher and had the summers off...she always slept in.
My job was to get my summer math and reading comprehension workbook pages done, and checked, and then I could go to the beach.(I went to a private school...the homework was never 'done'.)
I called the surf report every morning. Then I'd call my friends...
Getting ready to go to the beach was as easy as putting on my bikini---we all wore them---a huge tshirt as a cover up, flip flops (the kind you got at the drugstore), grabbing my towel off the line outside, fetching my Morey Boogie Board 360 B.E.(leaning against the outdoor shower)...and I was off.
I'd get to the beach,throw down my board, towel, and put on sunscreen---there were only 2 kinds...Sundowner is the one I remember bc it was the first waterproof one. If you put it on after you got wet, it made these white 'snot balls' all over you....you got Desitin on your nose and cheeks if they started to burn.
None of us were allowed to go in to the ocean until a 'grown up' showed up---and I can tell you, on the days that the waves were killer, it was just the glimpse of the top of my mom's head coming over the dune that sent me sprinting in to the water.
My girlfriends usually showed up shortly after...my best friend rode a bright yellow mo-ped all the way from Bay Colony...we were all jealous that she had a 'ped'. My other galpals would show up eventually...we were a hot little crew!
We did not care about boys---at least I did not...especially if Pete Smith's surf shop had reported the waves as 'head high, glassy and definitely ride-able'...we all rode together...chicks and dudes.
The street next to ours always had a better break, so we would all inadvertently 'drift' over there....
Our moms would get up out of their low slung beach chairs and wave us back over like the guys at the airport tarmac.
Begrudgingly, we would ride a wave in and walk back down the beach.
If we were really lucky, at low tide, there'd be a sand bar= better waves...and the chance to paddle out farther than our mom's voices could yell for us to come in.
If there were jellies in the water, we'd put Vaseline on our legs and arms...which would make your board slippery...so, you'd have to dig down and get some sand to put on your board as to not slide off when you dropped in on a wave.
The coolest thing that ever happened to me:
One day my friend Margaret and I both took the same wave...as we both stood up on our boards, a dolphin(porpoise) surfaced between us!
This big black shiny sea creature was riding with us...I will never forget the look on M's face! I was (am) a 'goofy foot'=right foot forward, and she surfed 'normal', so we were facing each other on the wave---we both screamed in awe!
'WHOOOA! DUDE! DID YOU SEE THAT???!!!!'
It was very cool.
After about 4 hours of endless rides, we would all go up to my house for PBJ's, onion dip and Pringles, Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls, Tea...and some Hot Tamales candy to carry on the walk back over the dune. Calories meant nothing---we ate whatever we felt like---nothing was safe!
(When you stay in the water 8+ hours a day, you burn it all off.)
Back then, we had to stay out of the water for 1/2 hour after we ate lunch---bc we 'would cramp up in the water and drown'...I think it was so the mom's could relax a little longer.
During that 'rest time' we'd put on some Hawaiian Tropic Deep Tanning oil---brown bottle...spf 0...I can still smell the coconuts!
When we were given the 'all clear'---after constant nagging---we'd be back in the water...
By the afternoon, most days, we'd all be wearing our Tshirts in the water bc of the rib/stomach rash our boards had given us---putting sand on the board, though practical, eventually rips you up! (Wish we'd had 'rash guards' then!)
By around 4pm, we'd all be wearing down.
When we breathed in really deep, our chests hurt from slamming over waves. Our lips were all shriveled from the salt water...not to mention the dried salt in our hair and eyebrows...stings. The inside of our mouths tasted like sushi---yuck!
We were 'done'.
The hardest part of the day was trudging back over the dune...boards and towels in tow. The one block walk home was an eternity. The sun would be starting to go down, so it beamed you one last time in the face.
Finally arriving home, I'd hose down my board, lean it against the wall, and take my own outdoor shower(in my swimsuit bc we did not have an enclosure)...with cold water. When friends were there, mom made me take my shower second so my guest would get the warmer water...
(We did not get hot water outside until I was like 16.)
Grabbing a towel off the line and wrapping myself up, I'd then do an act, only to be rivaled by Houdini himself. The bikini was off and slung on the line so the lawn mower guys would not run over it...
Dressed in my Pete Smith's Surf shop shirt, and my OP shorts...my day was done....
I miss those days.
Going to the beach now---with 3 kids and all their stuff---equates itself to strategic war planning.
(And now I wear a 'tankini', ginormous hat, and spf 1000.)
However, you will catch me out in the water...teaching my kids to ride...
...and waving them back in!

A (1st) Baby Story...

It is said, and widely known, that pregnancy and childbirth are the greatest 'joys' of a woman's life...every mom has similar stories...but here is mine...the first of THREE.
(I am mainly writing this in case of the onset of early Alzheimer's)
I was a bit freaked out when I found out I was pregnant with 'Baby #1'...
What a cruel joke that my body was actually gonna have to do what it was designed to do---and reproduce! Don't get me wrong---I was psyched!...and scared out of my wits...no more 'tomboy' for 40 weeks, at least.
The ultimate first 'cruel joke' was the 'pregnancy test'...seriously.
Peeing on a stick? huh? Now you boys have extreme control over your 'urine flow'...I know this bc my son has demonstrated his 'pen(is)manship' in the snow---impressive! However, back in 1994, those things were NOT what they are today...let us leave it at that. It came out 'positive'...or at least it had two lines on it...which according to the directions meant 'pregnant'...
I told my cat, Jesse, first bc a.) he was right there and b.)my husband (now X) was out partying with friends...I told him when he got home...(he said '...cool.' and went straight to bed...by himself I might add.)
I went to my OB/GYN doc soon after the lovely 'stick test' just to double check.
...and was relieved that in fact, no, they don't do a 'kill-the-rabbit' test any more!...Instead they do an 'ultrasound'...cool! I thought...a little gel on my tummy, and I'll see the baby...uh. NO! My doc whips out this wand-like thing---that hummed like Darth Vaders lightstick...YIKES! Turns out you don't get the 'fun' (non-invasive) ultra sound until later...
I was 'ill' for the next 22 weeks.
We lived in a duplex with a shared vent system at the time. My neighbor liked to cook onions and liver late at night...enough said. BLLLEEECCHHHK!
For some reason, the only thing that made me actually 'hurl' was grape juice---still can't drink it.
(wine? yes I can...)
So then I hit the 'cute pregnant' weeks....aw, how cute!
A basketball stomach and 'full luscious' bosoms...eeewah. Don't get me wrong...as an artist and illustrator I can appreciate a beautiful 'decollete'...but not with the expanding stomach to match.For the first time in my life I had cleavage...to me it was like having two ginormous water balloons strapped to my chest...they were heavy and jiggly...again, I say 'eeewaahhh!'
My body was out of my control...
I was gaining weight hand over fist. I craved homemade onion dip (the kind you make with soup mix) and chocolate milkshakes.
I did find out what I was having---a girl! Cool! I knew what to do with a girl...
I remember telling my then sister-in-law that I was having a girl...and she said,'I hate you.'...and she meant it! (She has 4 boys...karma?Of course, poor thing, only has one ovary...bless her heart.)
That was pretty much the end of our 'friendship.'
After the 'cute pregnant' stage I realized that my fingers were turning into sausages and my face was swolt up like a bad bloat from Chinese food...my lips were so big, I could hardly form words toward the end...again, I say,'attractive'!
(No wonder the song 'Brick House' was in a continuous loop in my head...)
I wore my running shoes from the time I got up in the morning until I went to bed...hoping that some sort of foot binding would keep my feet in check...plus, it was hard to tie my shoes!
Fast forward to July 13th, 1995...
It had been 100 degrees plus that week...and it did not help with my bloated orca-ness...
Mom came up to see the 'King and I' at Mill Mt. Theatre with me...my baby shower was the next night...
All during the performance I sat in the aisle...or rather laid down in the aisle bc I was so uncomfortable...we got home later...and my water broke! (HOLY CRAP!)
I was not due for 4 more weeks!
My (X) husband got home from a night out with the boys (wearing a sombrero I must add) at 2 a.m...
I had been laboring for 3 hours.When I told him it was 'go time'...he swayed and said...'cool.'
I was trying to figure out how the heck to time contractions...all that info from birthing classes? Out the window.
My X went and took a nice hot shower...'to wake up'.
As the steam tumbled from the bathroom, I was doubled over in pain watching the timing device.
X exited his 'invigorating' shower,and he casually got fully dressed---including shoes and baseball hat---and got in the bed and ...went to sleep...!!!!
(If only I could have shot poison darts from my eyes...)
So, I labored all night by myself...mom was a nervous wreck and I could not focus with her in the room...my cats kept me company, and 'chirpy purred' when I was going through contractions.
Finally around 630 a.m., I could not take it any more... I called my doc (my back door neighbor) and he said 'come on in'...and started giggling...???
I roused the sleeping 'prince' and he stumbled to the car...I lumbered down the 27 steps, of our house on a hill, to the car...by myself thank you...and we were off.
X added, quite comically,as we got on the road, that 'wow...I'm still drunk!'...and all I could think of was 'oh great...DUI on the way to the hospital...' PERFECT! He drove in the wrong direction in to the hospital driveway and dropped me off...I registered...and said 'gimme all the drugs you have for pain, and keep'em comin'!' (I was already a 'nurses favorite'...) I am HILARIOUS under stress!
They wheeled me up to my room...gave me a 'sexy little cotton number' gown to put on and said,'we'll be back'...I felt really really really alone.
However I did not have time to think about it bc...here came another lovely contraction...breathe breathe breathe....
I waited and waited and thought and thought and thought.
Geez. I hope I don't have to have a Csection---saw the video on Discovery Channel...I did not want my innards flopped up on my stomach, sewn back together, and then stuffed back in my body like a turkey on Thanksgiving...ah...food...I had not eaten anything since lunch the day before...I was hungry...the woozy kind of hungry. The 'I will kill for food' kind of hungry.
My labor nurse finally arrived with tubes, machines,needles, IV's...everything but a Mariacci Band---which would have been a nice touch at this point.
Eventually, my X made it to the room---oh joy.
He was thrilled to find out that the chair tilted back and made a bed...and he laid down and took a nap.
My doc---who I adored (X Navy fighter pilot--what's not to love?) came to see me later in the a.m....I could do this...he was there!
The next couple hours were filled with measuring, monitoring, and breathing...and wishing I could eat some food...
During the 'down time' my X went to the cafeteria and ate...and even brought a bag o doritos, and a cup of coffee, back to the room...I made him go out in the hall to eat and drink---'dragon lady' (me) was hungry and thirsty!
The nurse, a sweetheart and my companion, checked me...which for you guys out there, the only way I could describe it to you...(bc you guys don't have 'cha-cha's)' is like having someone shove a softball up your 'pooper shooter'(ok? Nuff said)
I finally got to the point where I could not take the pain anymore.
I am very stoic about pain, and have a high thresh hold---but I was about to pass out.
(People who give birth w/out pain meds are masochistic.)
Finally, the Anesthesiologist (sp?) (aka: Dr. 'I'm late for my golf weekend') showed up and (hurriedly and painfully) administered the epidural---I now know what it feels like to have an ice pick stabbed in to your spinal column.
My X collapsed on the floor and almost fainted during the procedure. Nice.
I rested...and waited...and could not feel my legs...seriously thought of getting a tattoo...Why not? I would not feel it, and it would have been a great diversion...2 birds, one stone and all.
Cute nurse recommended pitosin(sp) to 'get the party started'...once the drug was administered my body said,'oh hell yeah! let's do this!'....
Funny, the nurse had to fetch the X out in the hall...and then in came Dr. JetFighterPilotHeroOBGYN
(cue Indiana Jones Music.)
They wheeled in the 'french fry light' bassinet---it looks like the thing at Mickey D's that warms the fries---a couple more nurses, big spotlights, and a big HUGE mirror!...????
I asked them what that was for, and they said 'so you can watch the birth'...ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
No thanks!...they wheeled that thing outta there like a monkey on roller skates...FAST!
I started pushing---the best part of that was when I got to 'rest' and breathe the oxygen....aaahhhhh.
ok...ready...PUSH...everyone was counting to 10....and I was getting the giggles! It was so ridiculous!
I made everyone stop counting...thanks. I can count to 10.
Plus the coffee/dorito breath from the X was KILLING me...
He did attempt to go see what was going on 'below' and I about ripped his arm outta socket...'HERE! HERE! HERE! At my HEAD!!!!'
I know some people are all in to watching the head come out...but not me...and certainly not anyone but a doc or nurse...I have a vivid imagination...and the visual was just too much...really.
Turns out girl baby's cord was around her neck...tense moments as Dr. Wonderful cut it off her neck...then she finally came out...and was not making any noise...Dr. Wonderful put his hand on mine and said, 'it's ok...she's ok...'
They suctioned her throat out and she FINALLY finally cried---relief to say the least. She was 4 weeks early and Doc. Wonderful had said from the 'git go' that she may have breathing problems...
But she was fine...all 6 lbs. 14 oz. of her beautifulness. So after 15 hours of labor,Courtney Virginia Breakell was finally here....
Then I thought: NOW what?
She was the first newborn I had ever held...I knew nothing...I felt like the girl in Gone With the Wind" 'Miss Scawlett! Miss Scawlett---I dont know nothin about birthin no babies!!!!'
(I had to slap myself!)
A couple hours after Courtney was born, my X went to my baby shower--- and she and I were alone...really alone...no one came to see us...and the nurses were 'busy'....
ummmmmmmm. yeah.
Meanwhile, at my baby shower, everyone was partying it up! My X sister in law and her friends even opened ALL---yup ALL---of the baby gifts!
Back at the hospital, Courtney and I were just 'hangin' out...they brought me food from the cafeteria...meat loaf, gravy, instant mashed potatoes, and collards. I almost hurled at the smell. I survived off pudding cups and jello---and cranberry juice.
Plus, for some reason, maintenance decided they needed to switch out the phone and reinstall wiring at midnight...???
This hillbilly, mountain freak, nurse would not coach me on the whole 'feeding' issue with this new baby...she kept saying,'aw, huunney, it shoold come natchrully too yooo...'
(well, guess what Gertrude? I am clueless! I am not a frickin' dog!)
I also had never changed a diaper...I know!
(But given the school I went to, I never had time to baby sit...so, again, I knew NOTHING!)
...Obviously I figured things out because Courtney and I made it through the next hours, days, months... 13 years...and my 'baby' will be 14 this summer!!!!...'OMG'!!!!
So that's 'Baby #1'...stay tuned for the tale of 'Baby#2'...aka: 'Brick' the 9 pounder...oh yeeeaaahhh!

Fashion 'Fox Paws'

Today I was at work...madly changing mannequins, steaming garments, fluffing, and schmootzing the windows...sweating my fanny off carrying around 50-60 lb bustforms and hoisting them on to shelves above my head.
In walks this woman with a bag...
Since I was obviously busy, she says:
'Pardon me...do you have any denim that matches this jacket?'
She produces a mildly attractive denim jacket with embroidery on it...and she wants 'denim jeans to match'...aka: the 'denim jumpsuit'.
What? Is it 1982 again?
Putting on my 'stage smile', I guided her in the direction of a sales associate...trying with all my might NOT to roll my eyes.
I know I am not a fashion maven in my daily wardrobe of jeans, a fleece, and my Danskos...but come ON!
Get with it people!
NO NO NO. You do not, and I repeat, do NOT wear matching denim head to toe.
I used to live in the mountains of southwest Virginia...and the uniform there was the acid wash denims (circa 1983) and the darker wash denim jacket...BLUH!
(Not to mention the really bad curly perms,Jersey Mall bangs, hot pink lipstick, and fake nails...'hot'!)
Throw in a pair of neon pink pumps and watch my head explode.
I am a fashion designer by degree, and a stylist by trade.
Please stop trying to 'match' denim...or 'match' anything for that matter.
If ya want to look like a grown up 'Giranimal'....go to Talbots.
(No offense Talbot's.)

My Apologies...

I am writing to all yall who are my 'friends' on Facebook.
I am apologizing for my frequent,and yes, possibly, annoying, continuous 'status updates'...and my YouTube music benders...and my NY Times article posts....and all my causes...which I wave flags and banners for.
But maybe...just maybe, I can get you to see where I am coming from....
I am home...a lot...caring for a 5 year old, fabulously, fantastic, highly active---and motivated---chatty and creative child.
I adore her!
However, there are no 'grown ups' in my home right now....so, 'grown up' conversations are limited to sparse phone calls and emails.
...and yes, I do have a lot of out of town friends who I keep in touch with on Facebook.(This is what happens when one goes to 3 different colleges---including studying in Paris France---and has lived in 5 different cities in 20 years.)
(Bear (bare?) with me here...)
I update my status so much because I am tired of talking to myself. Seriously.
And the dog is NO help---and my cat...???? Well, enough said.
My kids---all 3 of them---think my talking to myself is funny...not 'weird' funny...just funny.
I throw out a thought on 'FB' thinking, there has got to be another mom, or whomever, out there...thinking the same thing...or at least there to 'chime in'...
So again, thank you to my FB pals who tolerate me...and to all yall that think I am 'over the top'...go ahead and adjust your 'privacy settings'....
(but then again, the ones who have already done this won't get this message...hmmm. Maybe I should actually send REAL notes through 'snail mail'?)
Hahahaha!....(Nahhh.)

'What she got herself in to...'

How well do you know your neighbors?
How about your close friends?

Behind the closed doors, and happy appearances, of many households, Domestic Violence raises it's ugly head and spreads it's venom.
Rich, poor, middle class, white, green, black,educated, non-educated...it does not discriminate.
Maybe you do not think so, but it IS everywhere...and it DOES effect everyone.
Spurred on by alcohol abuse, alcoholism, or depression...it knocks everyone involved off their axis.
It may start as a slimy verbal assault, or physical bullying.
It slithers in and contaminates the ears of the children in the room...
It wraps itself into a coil of passive aggressive behavior and emotional neglect.
It breaks hearts,crushes dreams...and shatters homes.
It spreads fear and anguish...it smothers Love.
No child should witness a man raise a violent hand to a woman---ever.
No child should ever hear verbal abuse.
It is unacceptable. It is illegal.
It is the 'deal breaker.'
Many may think 'domestic violence' means a man punching a woman's lights out...or slamming her against the wall rendering her unconscious. All those films where the man says,'I'm gonna kill you Louise if you ever tell any one about this!'...(cut to scene where she flees the house with the baby,the clothes on her back, and she lights his car on fire for good measure.)
Another misconception about 'DV' is that the woman 'got herself in to that mess'.
'Yup. Always knew that Earl was nuts...she musta made him real mad.'
SERIOUSLY?
I don't think any woman marries a man and says, 'gee, I hope he hits me on a regular basis, threatens me,treats me like a captive, and calls me 'f*cking stupid' in front of our kids!'
I live in a state where in the past few years there have been many more heinous DV acts towards women.Instead of just divorcing the wife,and moving on, the husband felt the need to take it one step further.
One pregnant woman was killed in her home---while her two year old slept in the other room. Another mother suddenly 'disappeared',her house 'mysteriously' caught on fire...and they found her body in a field later. One woman went for a morning jog, never returned, and her body was discovered at an abandoned construction site.
All were killed by their husbands.
Friends and families of these women---from 'well-to-do' neighborhoods---were shocked.
Yes. Domestic Violence is everywhere.
Many women live in homes, and stay where they are, out of denial.
'I am educated...professional...I have kids!'
Maybe so...but DV is a 'disease' in our world that does NOT discriminate.
If you yourself are stuck in a 'situation', or you know someone who is, there ARE actions to be taken...Help is out there.
First of all,talk to your/their friends.
Document everything. Take pictures.Journal.
Have a plan...even if you/they never think it will happen to YOU/THEM---have a plan.
(Why not keep a change of clothes in your car---you never know when a kid's gonna hurl on you---right?)
If you/they do have to flee...find a safe place to be.
(It is advisable to leave a note, or contact the spouse, letting them know you/they are safe and have the children---otherwise, you/they could be accused of kidnapping.)
Call the police immediately when you/they have arrived at the 'safe place'---a report must be filed as soon as possible.
(No, do not wait until morning...do it NOW.)
Hopefully you can have someone with you, if you have kids, because you will have to talk to an officer...and that is scary for them to see. Having a friend there creates a good diversion.
Contact an attorney as soon as possible.
Follow their advice to the 'T'.
(Many victims of DV are in denial---'I can handle this', 'it will get better','I'll give it one more shot'...sometimes a great friend just needs to take action and control!)
If you/they are advised to file a Domestic Violence Restraining order---DO IT!
(You/they could end up as one of the women in a ditch...and then where would your/their kids be?)
A friend who recently went through this, was lucky enough to have her attorney's help with the filing.
However, if you/they do this alone, don't be afraid to ask questions.
In DV cases, there are people available to help....and explain what will happen next.

I am thankful that my friend, and her kids and pets, are now safe...and she has hope...she is not afraid anymore. She is 'alive' again...