Do You Want Me to Cry?

I have been working on a post all week. One that I was initially really excited about and thought was very clever and now it is just an albatross I need to throw at all of you. And you are going to hopefully read it tomorrow and think, “Really, Maggie? Was it really that difficult? This took you a WEEK to write?”

I am truly much busier with my new duties at work. However, I am apprehensive that I will not be getting the raise I want and a different title, because “Administrative Assistant” makes me feel silly.  I’m 48, well-educated, talented and competent and all the things I need to be. I have put in my 2 years here waiting for this opportunity and if I don’t get what I want, I will tell them that I will be actively looking for another job. And then scream and punch a wall.

I’m hormonal.

I don’t know if I have mentioned this but I am the oldest person in my office. There are seven of us and I’m the oldest. My boss is the next oldest and he is 7 years younger than I. The youngest was born in 1988, which is a ridiculous year for an adult to be born. How can I be working with a man who was born after I graduated from college?!

I’m telling you that… to tell you this: some of my coworkers don’t like it when I open the office door to the 4th floor hallway to get some circulation going because I am so damn hot. Some of my young coworkers express dismay at the door being open. They recover quickly and say it is okay; that they can just shut their doors if they feel cold. I will never be a good poker player, my face makes it very clear when you shouldn’t fuck with me.

I got home from work yesterday feeling teary because my girls are in Palm Springs with their dad (which I think is wonderful) and are not posting pictures on Facebook and telling me what they are doing. So that made me cry. Derwood and I were supposed to go to dinner and a movie but I didn’t want to, so that made me cry. We went for an hour long walk and that made me feel better.

I felt better, until I noticed I had two zits on my face that had not been there when we left the house. Really? That’s what a 60 minute walk in the beautiful spring evening resulted in? More cystic acne?! That’s just pretty.

After the walk, I was attempting to get all sexy and passionate with Derwood, wound up head-butting him and cutting my lip, which made me feel stupid. The dog was barking at us. So, I started crying again. I quickly went from teary to bitter to angry to barely controlled seething rage finally collapsing in hopelessly fat in about 90 seconds.

After a bottle of wine and dinner, we watched the Voice. I really like the addition of Shakira and Usher and I don’t miss Christina Aguilera’s boobs at all. I was dozing off on the couch so Deren said, “c’mon, let’s put you in bed.” So I went to bed and he left. I asked, “where are you going?” “To watch the rest of the show.” Oh, he gets to watch it but I don’t. Fine. So I was bitter but I didn’t cry.

I woke this morning in the pre-dawn light. Birds were chirping outside the open window and I thought, “I hate everyone and I am fat and stupid and ugly.” Deren was cautious around me and gave me a little hug before he left. I followed him down the hall and said, “Don’t do that, you’ll make me cry.”

That man’s gonna marry me. Lucky bastard.

After the 2nd Fresh Pressing and Other Items of Note

It is very cool to be Freshly Pressed. It is even cooler to have a post that is meaningful to me be Freshly Pressed. I am so flattered and happy and grateful that the WordPress FP Wizards selected my post on my friend Kitty’s dad for Fresh Pressing. As I have said more than once, WordPress is a giving, supportive, hilarious, smart, generous community and I am so happy that I landed here.

I have spent a lot of time reading and responding  to all of the comments I received on that post. My readers’ kindness is at the heart of why I am so happy that this post had FP exposure. Prayers are needed and were requested and they came in by the hundreds. I also read some inspiring stories from other bloggers and found new blogs to follow.

Thank you for caring about my friend and her family.

I spoke with Kitty earlier today. Her father has been brought out of the coma and is breathing on his own. He has had four operations to date and will hopefully have a major skin grafting operation on Friday. He is suffering from geriatric ICU psychosis which means he’s a bit delusional. He thinks Kitty would make a good pilot. Which, while I think she is brilliant, piloting is probably not making the best use of her skills  (My mother had end of life psychosis and it does make for some good stories.  She told us one day that she knew we were hiding “hombres” in the closet and she “wasn’t falling for THAT one again!”) In the best of all possible worlds, he will be out of the hospital in a couple of weeks, into a rehab facility and perhaps home by June 1. As always, there are no guarantees so please keep Kitty and her family in your prayers. Thank you all so very much.

My Careeah

I don’t remember if I wrote much about how much Occupy (insert city, street corner, park, bus name here) really annoyed me. I was in downtown Portland the other day and walked by the city park blocks that had been Occupied. They are lovely again.

Lownsdale Square is one of the Southern Park Blocks in downtown Portland.

Sadly in Portland it was hard to tell if we were being “Occupied” or if some of the usual anarchist/meth head/ runaway crowd had simply relocated.

This isn’t even as bad as it got. Eventually there were huge tarps up in the trees, you couldn’t even see into the park. You couldn’t see the ground. It was months and months before the park was revived.

Back during Occupy, I read a column by Steve Duin a columnist for the Oregonian. The column focused on the efforts of one woman to feed the Occupiers good healthy vegan food as opposed to the “Voodoo Donut crap” they were eating.

Cap’n Crunchberry and Pink Bubblegum Voodoo donuts. What’s not to like?

Here is the quote from the 27-year-old vegan food provider that has galled me for two years:

“I’m not interested in a job that doesn’t activate my full potential.”

Oh. I’m sorry princess, you’re not interested in that? Well tough toe nails. Two years ago I took a job as a receptionist in a branch office of a small engineering firm. I got that job because years before I had worked in marketing and corporate communications for a larger engineering firm. I was 46 years old with a degree from Colgate University. Did I think this job was “activating my full potential”? Uh, no. But I needed to pay bills and do my best to take care of my children so I took it. I didn’t decide to go live in a tent and scream at police officers and destroy a public square….sorry I digress.

Here’s the point.

Yesterday I found out that I will be taking on the corporate marketing/web site management/PR work for this company. And I will be making more money and not play Friends with Words on Facebook all day. I took a crappy job that started out as a part-time gig. Nine months later, I became a full-time employee. I had a 401k and health insurance. My potential wasn’t fully-activated but I was working on it. Now, I have worked my way into a real job, that will keep me busy. Sadly I will have less time to blog but my brain will be up and running again all because I took a crappy little job that didn’t activate my full potential. Sometimes you do what you have to do and you position yourself for the next great thing.

My Wedding

Is less than 60 days away! Gah! I have ordered a cake. The invites went to the printer today. I have a quote on renting stuff. Last night Deren actually got me to make a list of what we will need and what it will cost. I’m not big on budgeting although it is amazing what a relief it is to get it all down on paper. So there’s that.

March Madness

The Madness has begun. I will be posting my bracket tomorrow so you may want to hold off on calling Vegas until you see my picks. Read here to see the ingenuity of my system from last year’s tournament.

Again, thank you all for being so kind and supportive.

My Birthday Getaway aka The Barley Incident

Today is my 48th birthday. I have decided it is easy to be happy on your birthday when you are happy and not waiting for Jake Ryan to show up in his Porsche to make you happy.

Thanks for getting my underpants back.

I don’t need anything, so asking Deren for a gift would be silly. It’s not like he can wrap what I really want from him…  a two-car garage. For every occasion, I would like an experience from Deren. Memories are made of this and all that. We planned a getaway for Sunday night and I took Monday off because my company lets you take a day off for your birthday. It really is a great company. I didn’t know where we were going but I took the dog to my ex’s house and packed a bag.

Saturday night, I made a nice dinner for Derwood. We grilled pork chops, made a salad and the pièce de résistance….orzotto with pearled barley, shallots, leeks and mushrooms. Wow, it was soooo good!

Barley is good for weight loss, which is why I bought it. It fills you up so you don’t feel like eating. Barley is the most fibrous of the whole grains. I have learned a lot about barley since Saturday night. I have learned that two people who have just eaten a lot of barley should not be trapped in a car together for any length of time. We ate Trader Joe’s barley which is 37% fiber. Do you know what eating 37% fiber barley will do to your insides?

The farting never stopped. Deren’s barley processing was about 4 hours behind mine for some reason so the total barley farting time was about 12 hours. Barley farts smell horrifically bad. Barley also bloats you up, sure you don’t want eat more because your stomach has filled up your gullet and the only space left for food is behind your forehead. Barley farts smell like burning tires, like an industrial accident involving hundreds of burning tractor tires. It’s extraordinarily bad and we drove to the Oregon coast dealing with the Barley Fart Phenomenon.

This conflagration smelled better than the inside of my car on Sunday afternoon.

Barley farts aside, we had a really fun drive to the Oregon Coast. Deren was restricted on his snacking because he tends to veer a bit whilst driving and eating; so the hummus was put away. Yes, I know you are a very safe driver Derwood, just save the appetizers for later. He told me that I should eat the sweet potato tortilla chips “they’re not fattening.” Then he launched into a speech about how good sweet potato tortilla chips are for me. “Catch yourself there?” I asked him. He knew he was busted, which made him laugh and then he choked on his fattening Kettle Chips and almost stroked out at the wheel. That’s it Mario, just keep the hands at 10 and 2.

We went to the antique shops in Aurora, Oregon. A town composed of just antique stores and some restaurants. We continued on to the coast. Initially the plan was to go to the Newport Wine and Seafood Festival but I’ve done that on my birthday and I’m old and crotchety now and don’t like crowds so we continued on to a little town called Depoe Bay.

Depoe Bay has a rather seedy, touristy downtown right on Highway 101. The village is famous for Gracie’s Sea Hag bar and restaurant’s clam chowder. It’s a great recipe but the place is past its prime. Deren snuggled up to me and pointed across the channel and said, “that’s our hotel.” Oh. Gulp. The Channel House. I know that because it is painted in big letters right down the side of the building. Well, it’s on the ocean so at least it has that.

view of town from our room

In college, my pals and I would mock ourselves by saying “Judge a book by it’s cover but don’t read it.” I judged the Channel House too quickly. Wow! It’s a bed and breakfast but seems like a hotel. We stayed in the Admiral’s Suite which was a nice hotel room with a fireplace and a tv in a small living room. Through a door was a bedroom with two walls of glass that stuck out like a box over the ocean or it seemed that way. Off the bedroom was a deck with a hot tub. FABULOUS!!!

View from our room Monday morning.

We had great food and many laughs and years from now we’ll say, “Remember when we went to the coast for your birthday? The time we ate the barley?”

Happy Birthday to me!

Someone Fat Happened, Year Two

It’s been a year, probably, almost…in the vicinity of a year since my first post here. I haven’t lost a pound but I am a better writer than I was a year ago.

This list isn’t of New Year’s Resolutions because I never keep Resolutions unless it is the classic “do more crosswords” Resolution that has worked for me for years. This is more a list of Goals or Plans for 2013.

I plan to go to Weight Watchers meetings starting Thursday, January 10. I plan to lose weight but also realize these meetings will be excellent blog fodder, what about your blog modder? hahaha

I plan to not use exclamation points so much this year. Not so many . Perhaps less of the “hahahah” (but I doubt that one). Perhaps not so many “xoxox” or I could change to “xxxx” or just “xo” or “xx” some people just give hugs (those are the x’s right?) Oh well, I don’t know!!! hahahaha xoxoxox This will be one of the larger failures of the year.

I plan on getting married this year. The wedding continues to shrink as Derwood and I are mostly interested in our life together and the honeymoon. The honeymoon is not going to have any shrinkage.

My biggest plan or goal this year is a stunner. I thought I had lost my ambition once I was accepted to Colgate University but as it turns out, ambition has returned, somewhat late perhaps or more likely right on time. I’m a big believer in it happens when it happens not sooner not later, things happen when you are ready to deal with them; ready to appreciate what life has in store. It’s not true all the time but most of the time.

During 2013, I want to make a living doing work I love. I love fundraising for non-profits. I love the technical work of budgeting or entering info in databases, planning events, preparing for auctions. That is what I love to do. My reasonable goal is to have five new clients this year. I had two last year, as well as blogging and writing for my favorite auctioneer Kelly Russell (My Aunt Shanere).

In 2012, I realized that I have marketable skills and I need to capitalize on them and not waste anymore time than is necessary at a dead end, mind-numbing job, simply because it is a paycheck and benefits. I am grateful for both those things but I also think I can figure out those things on my own and this is the year I’m going to do it.

So I can blog in peace.

Maggie’s End-of-Year Multi-Media Hyphenastic Extravaganza!

Hello and welcome to my 2012 end of the decade multifaceted, multifarious postapalooza! I’ve got it all here…. TV, movie and music reviews, literary critique, critique of my children, gourmet cooking tips; whatever you need to know in this new millennium, my blog and I are here to deliver.

MUSIC

I haven’t listened to a CD produced in the 21st century until now. Upon pal Lisa’s recommendation, I requested the Train CD, California 37 for Christmas. My children actually listened to me when I mentioned it back in November (which is the even greater gift) and bought me the album. Pat Monahan, the lead singer of Train, is in his 40s and this album is, I’m guessing, quite autobiographical. It takes more than a couple of decades of living to acquire knowledge that hopefully one day evolves into wisdom. I was flattered last week to have Brigid tell me that I am “very wise”, all the bumps in the road gave me the small dose of wisdom that I have. Monahan has weathered some storms and is at the point where he is speaking my language. He’s been through life and has gained insight and perspective and his songs are a joy to listen to.

This one got me where I live and I have yet to listen to it without weeping. As a matter of fact, I will replay it to keep crying because it is so touching and happy and I know what he means.

I’m copying my friend Guap and giving you my Friday song, You Can Finally Meet My Mom by Train. Special dedication to love-of-my-life Derwood.

MOVIES

Yesterday Speaker 7 did a post on the Top 10 Movies of 2012 and I’m not going to be able to top her take on the year in cinema; nor can I remember what movies I saw this year. Oh wait! I saw Ted and it is FU NNNY.

Last night I watched two documentaries on Netflix because I am a highbrow when it comes to the arts.

The first documentary was titled (and is probably still titled) After Porn Ends. I found this topic fascinating. I’m not a porn aficionado but I have a heard of some of the porn stars interviewed for the film. Actually I’ve heard of one, Amber Lynn because my ex-sister-in-law named her daughter Amber Lynn (I doubt she knew of the porn connection but still). I learned many things from watching After Porn Ends. I learned there is such a thing as a labiectomy and that there are “people” in this world who will pay money for the leftovers. Oh yeah, yeah I learned that.

I know there are plenty of people who will take the view that “no one held a gun to their head those nasty porn sinners” but not me. This film is thought-provoking and I found it very sad. Raylene, one of the porn girls, broke my heart.

Photo courtesy Oxymoron Entertainment

She is so naturally, girl-next-door beautiful and was so visibly pained by her experiences with porn and addiction; I was crushed to learn at the end that Raylene has returned to porn. I wish there was simple answer like “don’t watch porn, don’t support this industry.” There isn’t. The troubles these men and women, though mostly women, have started long before they got into pornographic films. But just in case, don’t watch porn.

The second documentary was “The Queen of Versailles”. Ack! This one won the U.S. Director Award at the 2012 Sundance Film Festival. The film documents the beyond-extravagant lifestyle of Jackie and David Siegel and their seven children and numerous servants while they are in the midst of building their dream 90,000-square-foot house in Florida. When 2008 hits, the walls come crumbling down. It is the story of many Americans who overspent when money was being thrown at them by banks and who couldn’t afford to pay for it when the credit dried up. Sure, it is on a much grander (and by that I mean tacky in ways few of us can imagine) scale but it’s the same old story. I wound up kind of liking Jackie and David, neither one of them came from money, both are clearly hard workers and have done work I would never take on (cleaning bodies in a mortuary, for one). I actually found their biggest fault to be that they are awful parents, AWFUL. The children were not taught manners or responsibility; they were vacuous, even the little ones.

LITERATURE

The Cape Ann by Faith Sullivan. Lovely book narrated by a 6-year-old girl living during the Depression. The themes of Catholicism, the strength and evolution of the role of women, world wars, alcoholism, struggle and small victories run throughout. The book never bogs down and had me laughing more than once.

MY CHILDREN

If I had been organized enough, I would have sent out Christmas cards this year as I usually do. The photo above would have been included. This is also how the girls laughed on Christmas morning after giving me a Kim Kardashian perfume/lotion pack. Kim’s perfume smells like a nasty cleaning product that is trying to smell good. The girls and I had a little chat about how, while the irony is appreciated, don’t support the Kardashian empire.

“Hi, I’m Kim Kardashian and these are my boobs and some perfume that smells like rancid Lysol piss.”
No offense meant to Lysol or piss.

GOURMAND

As for my food review of 2012… I am such a good cook. I really am and I’m sad if you didn’t get to have any of my cooking from the last week. I make highly addictive Christmas Crack, I made my first lasagna and it was dessert-like yummy, I spanked it with the best Onion Potato Gruyere gratin experience ever and remember that $130 beef tenderloin I bought on a ginger-infused-vodka hangover? It was the best thing I have ever made in my life. If I had some truffle butter, God knows what I could do.

Happy New Year to all my darling bloggers, this past year has been a joy.

I hope you enjoyed all the hyphens, I did it just for you.

Lisa and Maggie’s Excellent NYC Adventure Part 1

I returned Sunday night from one of my bestest NYC trips ever. While there, I was thinking of the first time I was in NY. It was 1984 and I was with my college roommate, Maria. We took the bus in from Jersey where her boyfriend went to Fairleigh Dickinson College. In 1984, NY had not been cleaned up and Port Authority was scary and smelly and dark. Did I mention I had a cast on my leg from slipping on a piece of ice and breaking it? I was hobbling around Port Authority being accosted by bums and I would talk to them until Maria pulled me away and told me not to make eye contact and keep moving.

So much has changed with me and with NY since then. I no longer hang out with people who dine and ditch at the Plaza so that security follows us outside (that incident was NOT Maria’s fault).  The Port Authority, while still bustling, is much cleaner and far less scary than it was 30 some odd years ago.

The view from our window and one of my most favorite things about NYC…the wooden water tanks.

My pal Lisa (see here and here) had a baby shower to go to this past weekend and invited me to tag along with her to NYC. Delta now has a silly cheap ($300 round trip) direct flight from Portland to JFK and Lisa has a nephew who works at the Ace Hotel and could get us a deal, so off we went!

There is an Ace Hotel in Portland so I know that it is a retro hip super cool happenin’ spot. I didn’t realize just how super retro hip cool the hotel is and how old 48 is.

I am at least 20 years too late for the Ace. I don’t have any I products (Pad Pod Pid etc), I don’t know how to accessorize, and I have no jeans that are so tight they could cause pregnancy…in other words I looked like a grandmother there. Nooo…even better, Lisa hit the nail on the head: we were invisible. And it is fine with me to be invisible, I’m too old to care about the Cougar thing; that cat left the cage years ago.

Once we dropped our stuff in our room (our room included an acoustic guitar), figured out the sensitive dimmer light switch which took at least 10 minutes, including much discussion and magical waving of hands, washed our faces, changed our clothes, stuck some hankies in our sleeves; we hit the lobby for some action or as we called it, food.  There seems to be a thing in NY, when you go in a bar…the actual bar stools AT the bar are considered the bar. If there are tables with chairs or bar stools, those are the restaurant and you can’t just sit down there. If you want to sit down and there is no room at the bar, you must go talk to a rude 25-year-old young woman who will tell you,

“Uhhhhh, it’s a 30-minute wait you old hag. If you want to get some Metamucil a drink at the bar, I can probably find something for you in a very dark corner near the garbage.”

We couldn’t have reached the bar without a machete; so we decided to take our chances outside the hotel.

Note to rude 25-year-old hostesses…. you better be really smokin’ hot to get away with that sort of attitude and um, yer not.

We found a cute place called Tavern 29. It was full downstairs so the very nice young girls told us to try the upstairs bar. We went up there and there were open tables but they weren’t really open, they were reserved for people born in 1990.  One of the hostesses asked us apologetically if we would like a little corner table up by the front window. Yes we would! And could you kids turn that music down? Great food and chat time before we strolled the city. Weather was lovely, cold and clear. We walked up to Bryant Park and through Times Square.

Ice rink at Bryant Park. Also nicest public bathroom ever is at Bryant Park.

We returned to the Ace and found it more happening than before we left, packed, loud and hot.

Click on the photo to really see how cool the happenings are in the Ace. My old eyes can’t see it unless the photo is larger.

We scurried to the safety of our room. The next morning Lisa went downstairs for some coffee with some trepidation, not knowing if there might be a coffee rave or some sort of flash brunch going on.

Happily, on Friday we found places more our speed. After visiting Dylan’s Candy Bar and Gracious Home, we happened upon Neil’s Coffee Shop on E. 70th. Neil’s is a throwback to an older, grittier New York and we loved it! Lisa and I gave ourselves away as tourists (not that I’m ever going to look very New Yorkerish) by using menus. Everyone else seemed to know what they wanted or needed to know what the soup was. “Pastrami on rye, two pickles, no slaw”. I think I may have seen Scott Baio in there but I’m not sure. It looked like him and sounded like him but what are the chances of me actually sitting three stools away from ChaChi? After eating, I took a picture of this bustling lunch stop because, well, I’m a blogger. In a split second the girl (who previously had looked as if she had hot glue gunned herself to the  stool at the cash register) was out from behind her little counter and explaining to me that there is a “no photo” policy in Neil’s. Why? Because they don’t like photos to be taken in Neil’s. She stood next to me until I deleted it. So I went outside and took photos.

Does anyone know why Neil’s shies away from the paparazzi?

Stay tuned tomorrow for the arts and culture part of the Adventure.

Naughty and Nice GeoPolitics with a 4-Year-Old

Sunday evening I was sitting on the couch watching Elf with my soon-to-be step-daughter, Kuaile or Q, as she is called; I had my laptop and was scanning Facebook when I came across this post from my brother-in-law:

“So, Matt announced at dinner, way out loud, that people in Nigeria live in piles of garbage… And I thought that after undoing his new learned opinions on Iran we were safe for the world map activities at school..”

and this:

“Lots of Africa is a mess”. I am mortified. we’re shutting down the Aunt Maggie school of foreign relations. Maybe said school should just stick with country sizes and how far they are and leave geopolitical views out of it. I figure we have another 8-9 years until the mock UN class at school and at least 4-5 years before he’s reading the Economist.”

Oh shit! That’s me! That’s my nephew mortifying his parents in a crowded restaurant.

Let’s go back shall we?

My nephew, Matt, who you may have read about (here, here, here and here) is crazy-ass smart. Not like, oh he can write his name and read “cat, sat, rat”. Smart like he can read everything, knows where all the countries in the world are and has the basics of multiplication down and he’s FOUR (4).

The trouble began Sunday afternoon when my sister Katie said, “Matt, tell Aunt Maggie your favorite country.” I already knew his favorite country is Saudi Arabia because, duh all 4-year-olds love Saudi Arabia. Matt said he would give me a clue so he said, “it starts with an S.” Spain? “it ends with an A.” Somalia? Savannah? Katie at this point is mouthing “Saudi Arabia” at me and I tell her that I know, I’m playing with a 4-year-old. We finally get to Saudi Arabia and it is jolly good fun. Then he tells me is other two favorite countries are Iran and Iraq. Oh sheesh. I grimaced at Iran and said (using his new knowledge of the Naughty and Nice List) “Matt, why don’t you pick another favorite country other than Iran?”

“Why Aunt Maggie?”

“Well Iran is on the Naughty List.” Matt responds with a dramatic jolt of his body and huge eyes, good gawd the Naughty List!!!

We proceed into a discussion of which countries are on the Naughty List and which are on the Nice List. Why the kid won’t stick to Scandinavia and Europe, I have no idea. “Is China on the Naughty List?” Well, the Chinese government is on the Naughty List but the Chinese people are on the Nice List.  And so it goes for 20-30 minutes.

I decide to break up this discussion with a walk around the circle with the dog. It’s chilly out so we bundle him up and get walking. But I’m not in the clear yet. Mr. Adorable and I hold hands and walk the dog. And the discussion continues. The kid knows more countries than I do. What about Sudan? What about South Sudan? I didn’t even know there was a South Sudan but apparently it showed up in the past year or so. This is where we get to my brother-in-law’s favorite line, “Lots of Africa is a mess.” I did say that but not really to Matt. At that point, I  was thinking so hard about the role of governments and how they harm their own people and the needless wars around the globe and I said that, sort of to myself or so I thought.

Matt, what about Kenya or Tanzania? What if we start there for our visit to Africa? (We have moved on to where he wants to visit.) Nope, he wants to go to Nigeria. Once again, I think I can head him off at the pass and very stupidly say, “well you know lots of people in Nigeria live in garbage.” (Seriously, Lagos is a crime against humanity.) He used to be totally into garbage, maybe we can talk about garbage. But I forget that his aunt on his father’s side is married to an engineer who is working in Nigeria right now. (I realize she lives walled off from the nastiness of Lagos but I should have realized he was going to be really into Nigeria).

While we are talking about Africa, his parents drive by on the way to my house to pick him up. They stop the car and roll down the window, “Hi Matt!!!” He is decidedly not interested in talking to them which is not typical. They drive on and we keep talking.

I’m sinking. I cannot win with this kid.

“Hey Matt! You wanna go to New York?” No, it’s too far ‘up there’. He will go to Texas (where he lived for the first 3+ years of his life) and he will go to Florida. Australia and New Zealand are off the list because they are ‘too far down there’. He is more than happy to go to Chad. I asked, “Do you want to go to Steve?”

I have now twisted my average 47-year-old brain into knots trying to explain what governments are, the tragedy that has befallen many African countries, and the intricacies of international relations and the Middle East.

The kid beat me hands down. He mauled me. Thankfully, his parents are still talking to me. I suppose he has beaten the crap out them for years, so they have some sympathy for me.

Why couldn’t he have asked in the crowded restaurant, “Mom, is Steve a country?”

“Egypt is near Saudi Arabia and those pyramids she mentioned do sound interesting.”

Derwood Makes His Move

This past weekend Derwood moved in with me to begin the Happily Ever After segment of our program. When I was in my 20s and got married, it was a big to-do with parties and registering and gifts. And it was great. As an engaged woman looking down the barrel of 50, it’s very different this time around. Derwood is moving in because I am tired of not seeing him very often and it is more expensive to maintain two households than it is to sustain just one. So he’s in.

The girls and I have been living alone for 3+ years. Annie and Brigid are adjusting to having a man in the house who isn’t their dad. Deren is adjusting to living with two teenage girls who are like those Siamese cats in Lady and the Tramp, just watching and waiting. Me? I’m perfectly happy.

Last week Derwood emailed me a handful of links to different night stands he had found on Craigslist. Not like One Night Stands but rather bedside tables. I would open each link and smile gently at how cute he was thinking that he would be picking out a piece of furniture that would go in my pretty bedroom. I agree that he does need a nightstand and I appreciate his enthusiasm in sending me some ideas.

Hahaha. Ohhh, yeah that’s nice. And that would be perfect for the beach house that will need to be purchased simply to house wicker.

Isn’t that darling?! He looked on Craigslist for furniture and sent it to me thinking I would like it and say, “yes, bring that diluted coffee brown wicker nightstand into my girl bedroom. Yes, definitely do that!” hahahah ohhh that guy! He’s funny.

Derwood did have clothes to bring over. Lots of clothes. Two car loads worth of clothes. For one guy. He brought over the first round on Friday night after work. Piles of clothes. A mesh laundry bag full of shoes. Armloads of shirts on hangers. I told him to just dump it in the bedroom and I would get to work arranging closets and creating piles of stuff that could go to Goodwill.

“Don’t get rid of anything without my checking through first to make sure I don’t need it.” I would never do that but if I did, I don’t think he’d miss anything.

Derwood is very fastidious and wrapped all the clothes on hangers in a sheet before putting them in the car so they wouldn’t get dirty. A huge cream-colored flannel sheet. “You know, I have more flannel sheets that I could…” It was sweet how he finally paused and saw the look on my face and his voice trailed off when he realized that no flannel sheets are going on my bed.

On Saturday, Derwood went to work and I culled through the piles of clothes and cleaned and rearranged closets. Saturday night and Sunday morning he went through the piles of clothing that were someway, somehow leaving the house not on his body.

This is the Goodwill shirt pile. Really?

We went through all the reasons that clothes were not staying…

• Not a 100% cotton
• Looks like a girl’s shirt
• You are not a 23-year-old Italian guy
• There is a stain on it
• It is not “timeless”

There was the first big black Hefty bag of clothes.

We then moved on to the pants. Derwood told me, “I wore skinny pants three years before they hit the West Coast.” He said those words loud and proud. Derwood is thin so most of his clothes could be qualified as “skinny” clothes. He does not own a pair of skinny jeans because we would not be moving in together and getting married if he did. The pants he was referring to were a pair of cords from the Gap that were just regular straight-legged pants.

After I shooed him out of the house, I finished up making the piles of clothes for donation. And I found these:

Derwood doesn’t know these are gone yet.

I don’t know if you can clearly see these pants but they are cargo pants. The photo shows the back of the pants where there apparently was some sort of ass-flap-chaps feature. One side of the chaps-flap had torn away and I pulled it back so the viewer can see that it was a piece of material sewn over the back of the pants, not to cover a hole in the pants but perhaps, to draw more attention to the wearer’s rear end. I don’t know why it was there but the pants are gone. I love you so much Derwood, honey but these. are. Gone.

Sunday afternoon Annie and I loaded up the car. I was going to take this stuff to Goodwill but Derwood is a Goodwill shopping junkie and I didn’t want him buying his “timeless” ass-flap-chaps clothes back. I had a good idea….Annie and I took two Hefty bags of clothes and two armloads of coats and sweaters and sweatshirts to the Portland Rescue Mission and the clothes will go directly to homeless men and not back in my house. Winter is coming so if you think of it, instead of dropping stuff off with the Goodwill or Salvation Army, give a homeless shelter a call and see if they need it!

And now, the adventure continues.

Postscript: To make sure I didn’t offend anyone, NO wicker was harmed in the making of this post.

The Latest OTB (One Tough Broad)

I have decided to have a weekly (I hope) One Tough Broad post. And sometimes the broads will be guys but you’ll know what I mean.

Being Freshly Pressed is terrific. It is so good of WordPress to acknowledge bloggers and through Freshly Pressing, send the FPd blogger more traffic. It is a lot of traffic and a lot of commenting and thanking people but well worth it. I got 100 new followers with my Fresh Pressing. It takes a long time to reply to all the comments and visit new blogs.

I received a comment from a blog called: Isawbobdylaninaspeedo. OK, well that gets clicked on IMMEDIATELY! What the hell can that be about?!

And there I discovered my latest OTB!

Judy from isawbobdylaninaspeedo is one tough broad. Not because she saw Mr. Dylan wearing only a shred of nylon, but because she is a mom fighting for her daughter’s recovery and to establish a life of her own at the ripe old age of 46.

Judy and I have commiserated about how tough parenting is, how tough caring for and watching teenage girls get through those years is. It was so much easier when they were little and the fights were over what color socks to wear and yes, you have to try some tomatoes. Now they are grown and beautiful and soaring and suffering.

Ms. Speedo has led a colorful life aside from seeing Bob in the Speedo, she spent a year or so on tour with Dire Straits….there’s a book right there. And according to today’s blog, she was also on a tour with the Pretenders. Just two of my most fave groups ever. She was the wild child and now is the grown-up helping her daughter battle an eating disorder, go through intensive therapy and hopefully emerge on the other side at 18, ready to take on life again. Judy’s daughter is being treated at Children’s Hospital Colorado Eating Disorder Program (shout out to people doing good work). To do this Judy, left her comfort zone with not much more than the shirt on her back and is relying on the kindness of friends and strangers in Denver to get her through till she is self-supporting.

One Tough Broad this one is and funnier than hell. Please visit her blog! She has been writing for less than a month but each post is one to read and re-read, first laugh, then cry, nod because you know what she’s going through or know that but for the grace of God, you would be her. Her blog is original and funny and sad but always real; and we, her readers, are the beneficiaries. She is putting it out there for everyone to read, she’s not hiding a thing. Go see her, say Hi, offer her your support. She can use it and you will be glad you read this fresh WordPress voice! She is stripped down to the essentials, in her life and in her writing, and she is really good.

No matter what life hands you, always remember how much fun it is to jump on a bed.

I am so happy to have been on this site for almost the past year. It is important to encourage other writers, point them out to your community. I remember getting support when I first started here, I’m looking at you Harper Faulkner and my beloved Simon.

That’s it. Nope, that’s all. Go read Isawbobdylaninaspeedo!!!

Date Night

After weeks of planning and anticipation, this past Saturday night was the big date night! I had gone shopping for what we would need for special activities. And it was an overnight date night so I needed to be prepared for a couple of meals because we probably wouldn’t be leaving the house much.

The big day arrived and I was ready for him. The girls were at their dad’s. I had the house to myself and he arrived.

Bring on the 4-year-old! You may remember my nephew from back when he and his mom lived with me for a couple of months while their house was being finished. Read here and here. My nephew, Matt and I had a date to do Halloween crafts and have a sleepover so his parents could have 24 hours of grown up time. They had a big date night, too. Probably without the tacky glue and glitter but you never know with those two.

Matt was very excited and started doing something I had never seen him do before and I looked questioningly at my sister….. “He just learned to hop on one foot.” Ahhh.

Matt has a different hopping style wherein the one leg that is not touching the ground is held out in front as opposed to being bent back at the knee. Matt is very enthusiastic about his hopping and looked a lot like a small, guitarless Chuck Berry. (great song and about 1:30 he starts the Matt hopping.)

“His mother told him “Someday you will be a man,
And you will be the leader of a big old band.”

I had gone to Michael’s craft store a week or so earlier to be ready to get to the crafting. I’m not much of a crafter but I had plans, big plans. We were going to glitter pumpkins, dip pretzels in chocolate and sprinkles, and make 3-layer Rice Krispie treats. I asked Matt what he wanted to do first and he said glitter the pumpkins. I got out the little pumpkins and put them on a foil-covered cookie sheet, got out the glue and the orange and black glitter.

Matt sprinkling non-green glitter on pumpkins.

“uhhh, I want green.” Green what? “green glitter, it’s my favorite color.” Oh well I got orange and black because it’s for Halloween. Noticeable disappointment on the part of little Chuck Berry.  Tacky glue is too hard for a 4-year-old to squeeze out of the tube. So I ask him what he wants to put on the pumpkins and I will do the glue and he can do the glitter. Um, a smile face! on top of the pumpkin! OK!What else should I draw on the pumpkins? Matt is now just looking around for some idea…how about that bug on the window? Alright, I’ll draw a spider. And a spider web? No only one thing per pumpkin. What else should I draw? A puddle? huh, ok. Aunt Maggie, I’m gonna go play downstairs. Alrighty.

Matt goes downstairs and finds the PlayDoh. Aunt Maggie, his little voice comes wafting up the stairs. Yes? Can you help me with the PlayDoh? Where are you playing PlayDoh? On the rug. Oh good. We get the PlayDoh going on a table and I go finish the pumpkin glittering and get ready to dip the pretzels.

“Matt, do you want to melt the chocolate for the pretzel decoration?”

“Certainly, we can!” is his reply. I love talking to 4-year-olds.

And we melt chocolate in different colors, yes I forgot to buy green. Loser.

Matt spends most of the time weighing things on the kitchen scale, which gets treacherous when he’s loading up a tall stainless pepper mill, he weighs garlic, salt and pepper shakers, an apple, the china salt and pepper set from my grandmother’s luncheon dishes…gah! whoa buddy. He reads all the magnets on the refrigerator “Freak Out and Eat Cake”, “My garden kicks…” nevermind.

Matt do you want to draw a picture for Aunt Katie? Why? So she can put it on her refrigerator, see how I have all those pictures on the refrigerator? Spend 3 minutes looking for the refrigerator. I have a large black refrigerator, I don’t know what he was looking for.

Back to the PlayDoh and some Curious George on Netflix.

I finish the pretzels:

Please note: JesusMaryandJoseph votives are gift because I say that a lot, not a little altar.

Much time has passed and I call Matt up and ask what he wants for dinner. “I’m going to have dinner with my mom and dad.” Uh. Oh.

Um, no sweetie you’re not, we’re going to have dinner and you are spending the night. WAAAAHHHH!!! The upset lasts a total of about 20-30 minutes, includes fake crying, loud discussion of how he will “never love my house” and how mad he is at me. Two trips down the hall to cry it out. And finally a red-faced hiccuping statement of how he has adjusted his attitude and does want to make Rice Krispie treats. (In his defense, I found out later that his parents hadn’t told him he was spending the night but assumed he knew.)

I know that Matt loves to count things so I give him a bowl and tell him we need 20 marshmallows for the Rice Krispie treats. He is all over this and counts them out, in Spanish. Then he dumps them into the kitchen scale which is a little scale so they go all over the floor and we pick up what the dog doesn’t eat. Throw them away and start over.

All goes well for the rest of the evening. We have dinner. Matt gets in his jams and picks books to read. Oh hey, he picks Dr. Seuss’ ABC’s! I love that. And he proceeds to read it, “Big A, Little a, what begins with A? Aunt (he says ‘auhnt’) Annie’s alligator AaA” Hmm… Matt do you have this book at home? No. And then I realize, holy crap this kid reads everything. The magnets on the fridge. The brand name on the TV. His going to bed books. He’s 4 1/2 and he reads everything. I read a Halloween book and then he reads “If You Give a Pig a Pancake.”

Matt gives world class snuggles or nuggles as he calls them. We lie down and have some pillow talk before he goes to bed. There is some monster concern but I let him know that my house is a Monster Free Zone, as is the entire city of Portland. Sadly, I cannot say the same for the town he lives in.

Matt and his dad addressed the Closet Monster problem the next day and then Matt added more for extra security.

Extra tape ensures that monsters stay away from the closet.

Finally, on Sunday Matt and I are taking some treats over to Deren’s daughter and I am going to meet Deren’s ex for the first time. I tell him that she lives at 46th and Oak. He is a little human GPS and asks what route we are taking, approves it and proceeds to count the blocks. We get to 39th and I ask him how many more blocks. Without hesitation, he says “seven”. Ohhh, too bad but you are only 4 so I won’t hold it against you. No honey, it’s three more blocks and I turn on 42nd. “Aunt Maggie, it’s on 46th.” Well, I’ll be dipped in shit if he isn’t right. He’s 4. I wouldn’t know how to find my way out of my driveway without him.

Darling 4-year-olds are also great ice breakers when meeting your fiancé’s ex-wife for the first time. She is very nice and all is well.

Matt has agreed that spending the night at my house isn’t so bad, so we are going to do it again in November.