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November 26, 2014

Comfortably Numb

This is a tough time of year. As posted on the Book of Faces earlier this week, it feels like I'm wearing a wet wool cape that presses me with chronic low-grade heft toward the ground.

A man I knew, not well, but knew just the same, died  on Monday of a brain tumor. He was young, in his forties, leaving four children.
Three years ago, my mother's diminishing ramped up, hurtling us all to her death on December 7.

A friend is stuck (when you're in it, stuck seems for all the world like a big T truth), in an abusive relationship.

There are deeper, older scars which also start to itch this time of year.

Pile on world events like Ferguson, the anniversary of Sandy Hook, beheadings, UVA rapes, Bill Cosby, and that cape gets more and more cumbersome.

There is a lot of sighing coming out of my mouth, most of it heavy. There is some spontaneous crying, like earlier today when I saw a vehicle from Clairbridge, where Mom lived out her final days.
The side read "Your story continues here..." Maybe it did, but what a sad story.

I'm eating too many bad things. Drinking too many bad things. Not exercising enough.
Trying to become comfortably numb.

On the up side, a friend shared this lovely article:

Of course, the only song that fits here:

August 10, 2014

What a Long Strange Trip - Part III

The return trip to Puget Island was non-eventful, in spite of stop and go traffic down Mt. Hood through Sandy. Not bad considering it was Sunday on Fourth of July weekend.
There was the slightly desperate portion where Helga choose to have her charger portal stop charging - meaning the battery was getting dangerously low and I needed the GPS - a minor inconvenience (not!). I stopped at a Fred Meyers in Sandy where a nice young man (god that makes me sound old) in the electronics section let me charge up. During that time OSD was able to relay a crucial bit of information about the tricky 205 North to Seattle exit. Thank god, because it IS tricky. Once I got to Longview, it was all good.

It was a hot (Helga has no aircon), long drive and I was pretty beat when we pulled into the compound late afternoon. OSD took me to Skamokawa (just down the road) to the Duck Inn for dinner. We chatted with Tori, our bartender/server over some fantastic halibut and chips.

The next day, Monday, there was an opening for fishing on the Columbia River, 7 PM - 7 AM, 8" mesh.
We spent the day getting the boat ready, switching out gill nets, in between dealing with J., OSD's 75 year old friend who's moving-on-down-the-dementia-path. OSD called on my road trip to tell me that J's wife had moved out. Lots of drama.
J. hadn't been eating (coffee and cigarettes) since his wife left (plenty of back story here. No judgment.). OSD's cunning plan was to have J. take me to breakfast; I'd make sure he ate something and pump him (discretely, of course) for information on the marital situation. Another caper!
J. took me to Duck Inn (again). When we came back, he said he was going to take the dog home, (she kept OSD company while we dined), and come back to help with the nets. Apparently he forgot where to find us (we were across the road on the slough). We heard him drive up to the house and then a bit later, drive off, without coming across the road to the boat. Oh, J.
Smooth as glass. Evening on the slough. (photo credit J.)

Gill nets on the reel.
See those floats? Nets don't come with them, they have to be sewn on with a net needle. The bottom also has to be sewn on; it takes days to complete a net. For gillnetting you need many nets of different sizes. It's a bit impressive that OSD taught himself gillnetting. For 35 years he seined, a completely different kettle of fish, so to speak. Heh.
Gillnetting will be illegal on the Columbia in a few years, they're switching over to seining. It's easier to control what fish are taken with seining and endangered fish can be returned to the river.
OSD has cleverly modified his boat to be able to do both kinds of fishing. When it's time to seine, the reel comes off as well as part of the railing, so the seine net can "roll" onto the boat. (I bet he thinks I wasn't paying attention).

Okay, enough boring boat talk.

Net in process
Being on a metal boat, on the water, for several hours, during prime sun time, with no sunscreen, gave me the second worst sunburn of my life. So stupid.
Glad the dermatologist visit was BEFORE going on vacation.

Pristine no longer applies
OSD had many of these Victorinox (Vicky) knives lying around. They're sharp, cheap, and versatile. One of my jobs on the boat was standing by with one of these in case he got tangled in the net.

Vicky knife

After several hours readying the nets we ran "over town", as they say, for ice and supplies. A wee nap and a brief tutorial on the radio and radar later, we got underway.
Taken by L. as we passed her house. I may have been driving (piloting?) here.

The captain (I love this picture)
We kept an eye on the navigation app (think that's what it was) for container ships in the channel - you do not want to be in their way.

Even though she was far away, her wake rocked our boat pretty hard.

We did six - seven sets (when the net is in the water). Wish I'd taken a picture of the ones at night. There was a 3/4 moon, no clouds, the river was calm. It was just beautiful. 

Our first set.
Because I didn't have a crew license (kind of silly to spend $135 for one foray), my instructions were to go in the cabin if the police came (they do regular checks) and not to touch the net. So when on deck, I just stood by, Vicky knife at the ready. I did do some steering (HARD LEFT!) and some Mark Twaining (Twenty feet. Eighteen feet. Fifteen feet. TEN FEET! EIGHT FEET!), as we laid the net out in shallow water. Cooked an omelet, made coffee. You know, first mate shit.

We landed two fish, caught one (get the distinction?). Did I get a picture of it? Nope. OSD said it was probably only ten pounds, it sure seemed bigger to me. It was after 1 AM when we decided to call it a night. We anchored out of the channel near the top of the slough. 

Good morning from the Columbia River.
Tuesday was recovery day after Monday's hard work, sunburn, going to bed late, and getting up early. 
FYI, boats are not that comfortable for sleeping, or at least this boat wasn't. Whacked my head several times on the bunk above me (remember? you cannot sit up in here) and got a crick in my neck. 

OSD cleaned and filleted our catch, promising that this salmon would change my opinion. (Many salmon spawning field trips with our father colored my view. Plus it can taste too fishy sometimes.)
We visited A.and L. (she took the picture of the boat on the river) for a few minutes. They are also friends with J., and involved in that drama. (A. made the Adirondack chairs. They're lightweight and beautifully made. Not surprising, as A. is a master boat builder.) She was making potato salad and it gave us the hankerin' for some; she gave us a jar of her delicious bread and butter pickles to add to ours.
I had to be channeling both my parents (my mother prepped/cooked all the ingredients, my father made the dressing), because that was the best damn potato salad I've made in awhile - got me right in the gill slits. It was a bit mustardy for OSD, but what's he know about potato salad? He's not Southern. 
He cooked the salmon simply, just avocado oil, salt and pepper. It was very good. Delicate, as he put it. Mild, not at all fishy. I had a big slab and a healthy portion (or two) of the potato salad.

My last day of vacation Helga and I went back to Astoria. Took in the Columbia River Maritime Museum, which is well worth the price of admission. The first section is on the Coast Guard. Their rescue swimmers and SAR teams are trained in Astoria - the roughest water in the world is where the Columbia meets the Pacific. Coast Guard stuff makes me tear up; it's as close as I get to being patriotic. 

Life size. Inside the Columbia River Maritime Museum.
The real thing
The rest of the museum is just as good - the history of the area, indigenous people, fur trade, logging, fishing. Many interactive displays (put on a rescue suit in one minute; pilot a tugboat). Admission to board the Lightship Columbia is included with the museum ticket. 

After a few hours in the museum, I walked a few blocks over to Commercial Street. There were some stores I'd bookmarked for further perusal when I was in Astoria the first time. 
FinnWare for one (shhh...the Finns are not Scandinavian according to DNA), RiverSea Gallery for another. This had to be my second favorite gallery of the trip. Fantastic space. Lovely art. Great jewelry. Becky was fun, patient, let me look at/touch/try on at about a gazillion pieces before finally choosing a necklace by Calliope
Of course, a trip to Astoria required a stop at Lindstrom's Danish Maid Bakery to pick up some treats for OSD. 
Stop in and say hi to Olga

Goodbye Oregon
The view from Helga's window

Upon my return, OSD decided a knot tying lesson was in order. (knot tying went much better than the learn-to-drive-a-stick-shift.) The Bolan (bowline?) knot. The rabbit goes in the hole... 
After I'd completed the lesson to his satisfaction, we went over town to the harbor and wandered around looking at sweet sailboats, sexy sloops (I like a sloop), and fat cabin cruisers. I took pictures of none of them. 

Like the color and pattern in this.

And again in this one.

J. came over for a few hours. OSD tried to help him understand the gravity of his situation, (she's not coming back and you need to learn how to do these things.), offering to help sort out his bills, etc. (I'm scared) 
He'd called her 61 times in one day and didn't remember doing it. It was just the saddest thing. 
While they talked, I made an apple crisp from the apple trees in the yard. Kind of therapeutic. 

K. came over later and we had a rousing discussion of all things political. With apple crisp a la mode to soothe our souls. 

The next day, after a breakfast of  apple crisp and coffee, OSD dropped me off at the airport. 
My flight to SFO was delayed as was the flight from SFO to RDU. Second verse, same as the first...

And that, dear tiny group of readers, is what I did on my summer vacation.

Best. Time. Ever.

Thanks everyone. I love you all.

August 8, 2014

What a Long, Strange Trip It's Been - Part Deux

After much cunning planning, I escaped my prison of hard labor. (I joke. I was very well cared for; there were daily naps, big fat steaks perfectly cooked for me, cocktails refreshed on the hour, and lots of laughing.)
Oh the humanity.

Helga the Volvo and I took the Ferry Wahkiakum (ten minutes) over to Oregon. Twenty-seven miles to Astoria, then picked up Hwy 101 South to where The Boy and Girl live.

The Boy
It was a lovely drive with light traffic in spite of it being a Friday; the weather was only mildly drizzly. Along the roadside, masses of lupin and digitalis clumped in wild lanky pinkness. Maybe it's the lack of humidity or the closeness of the ocean, but even though NC has plenty of trees, the air there smells greener somehow, lighter, fresher.

The Boy looks good, being sober (two years!) suits him. That and the love of a good woman. His hair is long and he wears in a man bun (a mun?). The Girl is delightful; strong, adventurous, centered, pretty, kind. I like her so very much. They are yin and yang. My grand dogs are sweet and welcoming. The business (doggie daycare and boarding) is going well; this past year has been a struggle with having to relocate unexpectedly, but they handled it with grace and aplomb. I'm very proud of them.
Some of the clients. The pretty shepherd is one of my grand dogs.

Road's End Beach
We talked and laughed and ate for two days. On Sunday, with absolutely gorgeous weather, we had a mini family reunion with aunts and cousins and brother-in-laws and nephew-in-laws and talked and laughed and ate some more.
My nephew-in-law, brother-in-law, and sister
The Girl felt welcomed, which made me very happy. My sister baked our mother's (great grandmother's recipe) blueberry cake. (Mom always made it for the family reunions, it's not a real reunion without it.)
Great Grandmother's Blueberry Cake (cake/photo T.A.W.)
Monday I loaded up Helga, sadly said good-bye to the kidlets and headed east to to the middle-ish of the state to my sister's for more family fun time!
A picnic at Silver Falls with my niece and family. Flat tires!
Sap waterfall
Lunch at Mac's Place and retail therapy with my sister in Silverton and Salem.
The Pretty One

Barfing Barbies!

Hanging at Wal-mart with my brother in law.

Best. Time. Ever.

All too soon, Helga and I were on the road again heading southeast over "the hill", as those funny Oregonians call the Cascades.

The Sisters

In Sisters, where they were preparing for the quilt show (apparently Sisters is equivalent to Mecca for quilters), I caught up with my dear friend Eileen over a delightful lunch at The Open Door.
Afterward we strolled the town, popping into art galleries and coffee shops. We had a hilarious conversation with Patricia Freeman-Martin at Hood Avenue Art Gallery about her prehistoric cat print, "What don't you like about it?" Well for one thing, it doesn't look like a cat. "It's prehistoric."
(P.S. I wouldn't have bought it with your money.)
She had a great sense of humor and made me a terrific deal on a print I DID like (Leopard Steer).

One of the many quilts in Sisters.

A too fast few hours later it was time for me to set the GPS for Redmond and my home away from home for the next three nights.

Linda is my anam cara (soul friend); we've been friends for many years, through heartache, betrayal, and happiness. This visit I was meeting her husband (Jeffery) of three years for the first time. I'm happy to report that we liked each other immensely. The fact that he ADORES her in the way she should be adored was a big factor.

The Fourth of July we went into Bend for First Friday Art Walk. Lots of great galleries. Found a lovely tourmaline and pyrite necklace at the Red Chair Gallery.
Recognized an artist, Jane Filer, from NC at the Paul Scott Gallery, which was the best gallery of the entire trip. Here are some of my favorites: Matt Flint, Mark Gould, Jerry Lisk, Jeanie Tomanek, Valerie Winterholler.

The tourmaline and pyrite necklace
When we came home, Jeffrey grilled steak and corn for us. We toasted America with vodka and tonics - cheers! The sky did this for fireworks:

Sunset with Mt. Jefferson

Saturday we went to Smith Rock, as Lookie Lous only. Wandered around Redmond a bit.
Got my ass trounced, not once, but twice, in Scrabble.

The aptly named Crooked River

People come from all over the world to rock climb.
Sunday came far too quickly. Once again, it was time for my trusty steed and I to head back to Washington.

That leads us to Part III.

July 20, 2014

What a Long Strange Trip It's Been - Part One

Twenty-one days is the amount of time it takes to start a new habit. Sadly, that is the amount of time I was on vacation. My new habit(s) are nothing conducive to being back in the real world, I can assure you.

The trip didn't start off well; bad storms over Chicago necessitated refueling in Louisville, KY (after circling Midway for quite awhile), which caused a missed connection to Portland and afforded me the opportunity to spend the night in the airport (we landed in Midway eventually), as all hotels were booked within a thirteen mile radius. I arrived in Portland, looking less than optimal, about twelve hours later than planned.

The OSD collected me (and kindly did not bring up the less than optimal looking); we headed to Ikea for lunch and some light shopping (dishes, glassware, a rug), Best Buy for a sound system for the speedboat. Around to his daughter's to collect the giant Tahoe (Mary Jane) I was driving back to Washington (rush hour traffic!), so he could drive his daughter's car home, as it needed some work.
An hour and half later we arrived.
Vodka and tonic view
Friday we went into Astoria to do "big shopping" (Costco and Home Depot, with no sales tax) and a bit of sightseeing. If you happen to end up in Astoria, the Columbia River Maritime Museum is well worth the trip.

Leaving Puget Island on the Westport ferry

Astoria Column w foxglove

The mouth of the Columbia River from the top of the Astoria Tower
Seven days were whiled away on the riparian homestead, but not at all idly. There was putting carpet and the sound system in the speedboat; transplanting plants into the garden; planing and shellacking trellis parts for the pergola; cleaning and reorganizing the kitchen (that took most of two days); brush and tree trimming.
There was a brush fire incident one evening, but it was quickly brought under control. We assured the policeman who slowly drove past that it was in fact, intentional. It was a mostly true statement...
(Cocktails and flame throwers - not an ideal combination.)

Well that escalated quickly.

I spent an afternoon wandering around the small village of Cathlamet talking to artists and coffee shop workers, while the task master was in Portland removing a tree limb from a friend's roof. 

A full day off was garnered for good behavior ("good effort"), so Helga the Volvo (who would be my boon companion the next week) and I went into Portland to meet Alice and Andrea of Go Ask Alice When She's 94 fame (click to read recap of the visit). What a treat to meet them both! After spending some quality time with Alice and stealing roses for her room, Andrea and I had a delicious lunch at Johns Street Cafe. (The restaurateurs of the South could take a lesson on how to make good un-sweet tea from this place.) Then we spent an hour or so talking on the deck of Andrea's houseboat before I headed back to Washington. Such a lovely day!


One night we drove to Seaview for dinner where I had the best clam chowder I've ever had. Wish I could remember the name of the restaurant. We stopped at Beard's Hollow Lookout in Cape Disappointment State Park on the way.

Next up, week two with family and friends...

June 1, 2014

Glad, Then Guilty

That's how I feel when I hear someone talking about dementia and/or Alzheimer's.

Obviously not glad for them, but glad that I, and more importantly my mother, don't have to deal with it anymore.

You know how sometimes complete strangers start talking to you, telling you personal things?
It happened to me a few months back with the owner of a cute little establishment in Hillsborough. It was just the two of us in the store at the time and she actually remembered Mom, Anon CP, and me trying on hats several years back, laughing ourselves silly.
I mentioned something about Mom having dementia and her pain came tumbling out. Her father has the hateful disease and her mother is refusing to put him in a facility. She was tired from trips to Wisconsin and taking care of her own family; broken-hearted about her daddy; worried that her mama will wear herself out being so fierce about taking care of him. We both cried some and hugged some. Bless her heart.

OSD choked up Friday when he told me that one of his friends of thirty years has it. I wanted to lay my head on the desk and cry because of what's in store for those folks. No matter how you spin it, there isn't any good news here. Bless their hearts.

I see women shopping with their fragile mothers and can spot the surprise at not recognizing a fucking thing - in both their eyes. My heart breaks for it.

Mom was lucky because she had [some] money and family who cared about her. She was able to live in a nice place about three miles from me. My siblings did what they could to help.

Here's the guilty part: I didn't have to quit my job to take care of her at home because she had money. And the whole ordeal was over in a fairly short period of time - three and a half years. I sometimes feel as if I got away with something, escaping relatively unscathed. And now wait for the other shoe to drop.
Damn my superstitious Irishness.

That's what been on my mind the past few days. Sorry it isn't more cheery.

Bless all our hearts. Please.

May 26, 2014

I'm Finally Going and I Hate ALL My Cats

I've booked my tickets for the left coast.

Some of you might think that was the hardest part (it took long enough!), but no - coordinating four families, several businesses, new jobs and time off is the sticky wicket. The thing I do ALL DAY LONG at work (scheduling and logistics), is now what I have to do on vacation. Ergh.
But I'll be there for three weeks, so hopefully, and without much stress, all can be seen.

I'm excited about seeing The Boy (2007) and meeting The Girl in person. It will be the first time since 1992 that my sister and I have seen each other without a family sickness drama and/or death. Looking forward to being with my now all grown up niece and meeting my two grand nephews and my nephew in law.
And working in a visit to Andrea and Alice. Fingers crossed!

The Old Sea Dog is in the mix as well. It's been forty years this year since the summer of the tent and my youthful glow, amoung other things, is much diminished. But I suppose his is too, right? Meanwhile, it feels like I just purchased a house or a car. As in, I want to vomit and exclaim "What have I done?!" over and over.

Moving on...I hate ALL my cats. Oscar is still peeing on stuff that Harrah's husband John touched over a month ago. COME ON! Finn, no matter how many scratcher barricades are set up around the chair (also covered in Sticky PAWS tape. So attractive.), keeps finding that one inch that isn't covered and scratching there. And Lillie, well Lillie has a big mouth that never shuts up.

So there you have it.

If you need me, I'll be clothes shopping and trying to decide what shoes to take.

May 11, 2014

Third Post of the Day

It's a damn record.

I've been sick for a week.
Weirdly sick.
I feel okay enough to go to work, but have a horrible chest rattling consumptive cough.
Occasionally I break out in a cold clammy sweat.
I don't feel like eating. Gin and Tonics make me feel better though.

I have a new pottery BF. Joseph Sand.

Okay. I'm done now.

Here We Are

You know what's hard? Getting all my introverted thoughts (of which there are many, let me assure you) sorted out into some type of coherency and on this blog.

It's like a tornado: cows and houses and wicked witches and bicycles and your little dog too, all swirling around up there. Sigh.

Saw "The Lunchbox". Be still my heart; what a lovely movie. The friend who saw it with me didn't like the ending, but I found the entire thing - stem to stern - absolutely delightful.
It's billed as a romantic comedy, but trust me, it is as far away from the disgusting bullshit saccharine type American rom-coms as can anything can possibly be. Thank god.
Of course, if you like American rom-coms - sorry; don't go see it, you'll hate it. And maybe hate me for recommending it. We can't have that.

I don't have an ending to this post. It's been in the drafts section for weeks. I'm just going to post the damn thing and make up for the month and a half I haven't.

Not Last Night, But The Night Before

Twenty-four robbers came knocking at my door.

Well, really it was two weeks ago Friday, and probably only two robbers, but yes, some shithead(s) broke into my house.

I came home around 10:15 PM to find the violation. You know those studies that talk about how unobservant we are - even when we think we are observant? I can testify to the accuracy of them.

It DID feel wrong when I came in the house. The obvious thing was no cat greetings. My gaze swung right; there was Finn sitting petrified under the end table. No sign of the other two. In slow motion, one by one, things popped into consciousness:
The laundry closet door ajar (my first thought - those damn cats!).
The open drawers in the kitchen island (my second thought - that damn Finnbarr!).
The out of place bench that is usually under the kitchen window (my third thought - what kind of skirmish did those blasted cats have!?).
Finally, the substance on top of the now askew bench which my brain languidly identified as broken glass (my fourth thought - did those fucking cats have a kegger?!).
Then and only then did the light bulb come on.

It took until the NEXT DAY for me to realize the biggest key that something was wrong - all the lights were on. So much for observant.

I called the sheriff (911 doesn't work for the county. I mean it works - in that when you call they transfer you to the sheriff's dept.), then Jim and Daphne. Jim made a Wal-mart run for heavy duty tarp and tape, Daphne stayed on the phone with me until the deputy got there (sheriff's dept. didn't). Texted the OSD who promptly called.
The deputy was quite funny and very kind. We discerned the only things missing were a pearl and gold bracelet and a pillowcase (to haul off all the loot presumably). We found Oscar in my bathtub (the extra scary Apocalypse Is HERE NOW hiding place); Lillie was under the guest bed. They were all fine, except for the heart palpitations.

As he left we had a little laugh at my now ironic doormat:
He joked that I needed to move that around back. 

OSD stayed on the phone with me until 3:00 AM my time (he's on the west coast time), which was quite kind. 

Over two weeks later, I still don't have a new window, not completely. They broke the new one as they were installing it. 

That happened.

Maybe Monday. But actually, I'm starting to like the look of tarp...
Classic, no? 

April 2, 2014

Bang a Gong

Yesterday the following sentence in this blog jumped out at me..."the man who loves me who was in my bed...".

Other sentences and feelings did too, but that one, that one banged my heart like a gong.

The man who loves me.  

It was easier when all those longings were locked down, (imagine the series of doors closing in "Get Smart"). Years of being shut down for very good reasons: parents and their illnesses, death, dementia, more death, grieving - those were the years of not wanting a relationship, and being really really fine with it. Really.

That season is over, and friends, waking up to the niggling, stinging pain of wanting is way more agonizing than I recall.

So there's the dating, in which I hope to find the man who loves me. It's akin to working out. I start out with the best intentions, then there's pain (rejection), so I stop, rest, go again. The going again is the kicker.

I feel like a bivalve, opencloseopenclose. (Remember, no pearls before swine.)

Thus it goes.

As a side note, today would have been Mom's 78th birthday. I miss her.

March 15, 2014

What's To Become of Me?

I imagine this is the question my blog is asking. A month between posts...even after promising to do better.

I don't know little blog. I don't know.

Perhaps part of the problem is that I have not had a full pajama day in weeks.
After ten years I finally drank the Church of College Basketball Kool-Aid. My favorite - UNC women's basketball. (Go Heels!) Those darn Sunday games take up valuable PJD real estate.

We've had snow, ice, more ice, and there's more ice on the way. In between 70 degree days. Last week it went from 33 to 74 in one day. Another day it went from 55 to 24 in several hours.
It is hell getting dressed in the morning. No matter what you put on, it's wrong.

I feel like I've injured just about every part of myself. Current injury is the left Achilles tendon. Here I am, trying to do the right thing by working out and my body just keeps crapping out on me. It's ever so annoying.
What is it about an injury that makes people want to tell you horror stories? It's the reason I don't go to baby showers anymore. It turns into the Top This Length of Labor or Biggest Episiotomy Ever. Ugh.

Dating has slowed to a crawl. Thank god I have women's basketball to occupy my time.

Listening to Neko Case non stop. I like singer/songwriters - poets who can turn a phrase - "Damp and bruised by strangers kisses on my lips." Or "I'm so tired, I wish I was the moon tonight."

Anyway, that's it for now little blog.
Sleep tight.

February 13, 2014

They Lord, Y'all

This dating thing gets more interesting...or creepy, as time goes on.

Contacted today by the N'awlins person I had coffee with a few months ago.
One time.
Daytime coffee.

He wanted to know if I would be, if I didn't already have such a friend, his f__k buddy. (Anon CP's brother suggested I reply "You know I'm a man, right?" LOL!)

What in the world possesses someone you had coffee with ONCE to ask you that?! It's quite a leap.

Another Southern boy (SC) called me Monday to tell me a "funny family story" involving masturbation and a 65 year old aunt.

Honey, in my part of the South, we call that child abuse. (See Florida darlin'? You don't have all the weird.)

Then a friend pointed out that maybe that never happened, but perhaps there was a fantasy element involved. And me being a bit older than  him... oh my god. So creepy.

I have higher expectations for Southern boys and they are disappointing me mightily this week.

The one that's behaving most chivalrously at the moment is the Mark Ruffalo look alike.
A damn Yankee.
Go figure.

Where are the normal people?!

This post BEGS for some music, but I am stumped.

February 9, 2014

The Latest Scoop

Because I KNOW you all live vicariously through me...

"The Lego Movie" = total fun. And how the heck did they film that?! Amazing.

Enjoying the "Circles" album by Mike Doughty. Formerly of Soul Coughing. "El Oso" is one of those CDs I never get tired of. Like Neil Finn's "Try Whistling This".

Saw this necklace (Sticks Together) by Erika Strum last weekend in the Eno Gallery in Hillsborough; sat in the car for twenty minutes trying to talk myself out of it.

Don't need it... Don't need it... Don't need it...Okay, just go try it on.
Maybe it will look bad and you can walk away. Such a cunning plan I had!

Then she told me it was reversible. Ergh.

It makes a lovely tinkling noise, like a little wind chime at my neck. And it's ART dammit.

Speaking of art - I L.O.V.E. the marsh paintings by Jacob Cooley. I can practically smell the brine.

Really like the paintings by Larry Gray too. They are so much more evocative in person. Could look at them forever.

My Durham skyline necklace by Metamorphosis Metals is finally complete! Major the Bull added today at Vespertine.

Also bought this adorable Bitchy Resting Face bird print: 

Enough of art. (As if.)

Now on to the world of dating.

Had a very nice date Wednesday night. Funny, nice looking (like a white haired Mark Ruffalo), proper usage of both English and utensils. Two sweet kisses on the lips at the end. Text yesterday that he would be back in town in a couple of weeks and we'd do it again. Well okay then. Just remember those cowboy boots, Mister.

On the same topic: 
A "friend" had an interesting dating experience recently...
It's Date #2. While driving/showing him around town (he's from another city in NC), a hand was laid on the thigh while driving, sans permission (if it's not obvious, he was the hand layer). Later he went in for a kiss, not once, but twice, calling for the cheek deflect move. There were more dating crimes, but these were the most egregious. 

She politely explained the lack of spark in an email, but now he is begging for forgiveness, to the tune of four to five groveling emails. My "friend" is torn between salvaging a friendship (same profession), or cutting her losses. 

What say you readers? 
Line crossed, no going back? Will he take forgiveness as a sign of hope? Will she be fighting him off for the remainder if she does extend the olive branch? Or should she stick to the initial lack of spark email and call it a day (meaning, don't respond to any of his groveling)? 

Y'all have a good week, free from hand layers...unless of course, you want that.