The other night, we heard a noise in our parking area. We were almost asleep at that point, but Mr. Hed ran over to the window to see what it was. He's a little doberman-like, and for good reason. We have had a few car break-ins since moving in here, so there are times when it's a good idea to just do that.
Of course, this time, along with every other time we have looked out there, it was nothing, and soon we were asleep. Still, though; we know better than to leave anything unlocked anymore. All cars are in view of our window, so we can jump up at the slightest sound and check things out in true paranoid, usually unnecessary fashion. We aren't always dressed, but we are badass enough that it hardly matters. We will still kick your ass if we catch you.
Be warned.
I keep a garden hoe next to the bed. Hey, that could fuck a person up! And guess what? I know how to use it! Yes. Several gangs tried to get me to join 'cause I'm pretty good with that thing.
Despite the fact that this time the noise was not coming from our yard, I was asleep... not very long and awoke from a freaky dream about a flying attack Chihuahua at a child's birthday party. No joke. This thing was across the room, then suddenly, it was eating my face. I don't recommend that sensation, even in mere brain wave form. No. No, I don't. It still makes me shudder slightly. Is there such a thing as dream-induced PTSD? Am I crazy?
Don't answer that last one.
I had to wake Mr. Hed and tell him about this.
He said he wouldn't mind having something not unlike the dog for the parking area outside, since we still occasionally find evidence from unwanted guests out there in the morning. We never really know when this is happening, because we are in the middle of town, and there is a lot of activity in our general vicinity at all times. It's very frustrating, but we will be putting up a spiky wrought-iron fence and gate soon, and hopefully that will help.
Mr. Hed said that in the meantime, he wouldn't mind training an eagle, crow, or falcon to attack unwanted people. The bird could perch high upon a branch in one of our cedar trees out of view from the entrance, and stealthily swoop down, pecking the culprit about the head and face until they run away, screaming.
I would name it Adolph, and say things like: "Adolph: eat eyes."
Or... maybe a Komodo Dragon. They eat less than dogs. I think you just have to feed it a goat like every three months or so. And they are pretty badass. They will fuck your shit up! They may not be poisonous, but damn, they are grody. I think the inside of their mouths probably smells like a combination of garbage, ass, and man-pit... and would give you one hell of an infection if they merely bite you, and don't decide you are goatalicious.
I would name him Tim. Tim The Fucking Dragon.
Mr. Hed may be onto something.
-H
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Dry...
I have been feeling a bit dry lately.
Dry and salty.
Dry and salty like a bag of broken crackers, and not really in a good way. Having kids and a somewhat complicated life can make for some strangeness that shows when I don't always want it to. I can sometimes come off completely awkward when my best intentions were meant for a completely different action. It seems that I am the embodiment of the synaptic misfire as of late. It's not for lack of social skills. I have them. I was raised to have them, and this has never really been much of a problem for me. But I also have about 85 million thoughts running through my head at once these days, and trying to combine those thoughts with what would normally be a cake walk? Well, it can bring the awkward.
Oy, can it!
Today I was having a discussion with a few friends about what it's like in this stage of life, being mothers and having kids and chaos, ad nauseum. The phrase "just stumbling in from the woods" came up. All I could think was: "Yes! That is me. I am totally covered in moss and brambles. Kinda dirty, a little scratched, not exactly the polished version of myself I once was. Hm. Who the hell was that girl? I sort of remember her... Sort of."
Sometimes this bothers me; especially when I see what life could have been like from the other side if I had applied myself more, or had tried harder; even with kids. It's not that I find the other side threatening. On the contrary! It's more that I would like to figure out how to fit into that other side now, somehow; to find importance in the community and utilize my mad artistic skillz in some way; other than just a side gig, which is sort of what I have going now, because that is all I have time for. I long for the time when I can devote my everything to my art. This is just not the time, unfortunately.
I have Thoreau envy regularly. Can I just... go to Walden and shoot the fuck out of it, as well as write about it? This would make me ever so happy; to just spend some time away, solo. No media, no other people; devoid of influences or opinions to cloud my vision. Nothing to distract me from taking it all in. I know I would come back with something truly amazing and worthwhile. This would feed my soul in so many ways... I don't even know where to begin... or how to articulate in a way that would truly express my need for this. I don't know if there are words. I may have to create new ones.
Did I mention I am an incurable extrovert? That said, this is speaking volumes here.
But then, I have to wonder if anyone is completely satisfied with their lives. The logical part of my brain tells me that we certainly would not be motivated in the least if we were. What would drive us to keep changing and growing as people if we were absolutely comfortable in every way, and everything was perfect? I think if everything was perfect, and I was completely comfortable, I would want to stay put.
Still, I know myself. I would get bored even in the most idyllic situation, and try to find something else to do. Perhaps I don't have enough life experience to say what I'm about to say, but honestly, I feel that things just aren't all that interesting without some conflict, contrast, or disconnect. This is the sort of thing that reminds you that you are alive, and that life is supposed to be a challenge. (I am not referring to the sort of activity that creates unnecessary drama. I am SO over that.) But life has a way of twisting, turning, and morphing on its own. This, to me, can be very interesting and I try to look at these times as opportunity for personal growth.
After all, obtained happiness isn't what life is about. The pursuit on the other hand? Why, yes!
We can certainly stay in one place for a while, but when it's time to move on, it's time to move on. And we do it. Because we have to.
One of the things I often repeat to myself is the old adage: "This too, shall pass." Trying to make the best of what I have to work with now is how I cope. It's not always easy, and I don't always succeed, but I try. And there are times when it simply exhausts me; really, and truly. But I keep going, and I keep trying to find things that interest me. I surround myself with people who inspire me. I avoid the ones who drain me. I can at least hope that I am, in turn, inspiring to some.
So, I may be bag of dry crackers being held by a hippie stumbling out of the woods, but I know that this is a temporary feeling, and I am remarkably adaptable. I will get through this dry time, and I will be fine, because I have the tools to lead me, and I know how to use them. And if I don't, I simply ask for help from someone who I trust, feel safe around, and does know.
This may actually be the key to something important. Like life.
-H
Dry and salty.
Dry and salty like a bag of broken crackers, and not really in a good way. Having kids and a somewhat complicated life can make for some strangeness that shows when I don't always want it to. I can sometimes come off completely awkward when my best intentions were meant for a completely different action. It seems that I am the embodiment of the synaptic misfire as of late. It's not for lack of social skills. I have them. I was raised to have them, and this has never really been much of a problem for me. But I also have about 85 million thoughts running through my head at once these days, and trying to combine those thoughts with what would normally be a cake walk? Well, it can bring the awkward.
Oy, can it!
Today I was having a discussion with a few friends about what it's like in this stage of life, being mothers and having kids and chaos, ad nauseum. The phrase "just stumbling in from the woods" came up. All I could think was: "Yes! That is me. I am totally covered in moss and brambles. Kinda dirty, a little scratched, not exactly the polished version of myself I once was. Hm. Who the hell was that girl? I sort of remember her... Sort of."
Sometimes this bothers me; especially when I see what life could have been like from the other side if I had applied myself more, or had tried harder; even with kids. It's not that I find the other side threatening. On the contrary! It's more that I would like to figure out how to fit into that other side now, somehow; to find importance in the community and utilize my mad artistic skillz in some way; other than just a side gig, which is sort of what I have going now, because that is all I have time for. I long for the time when I can devote my everything to my art. This is just not the time, unfortunately.
I have Thoreau envy regularly. Can I just... go to Walden and shoot the fuck out of it, as well as write about it? This would make me ever so happy; to just spend some time away, solo. No media, no other people; devoid of influences or opinions to cloud my vision. Nothing to distract me from taking it all in. I know I would come back with something truly amazing and worthwhile. This would feed my soul in so many ways... I don't even know where to begin... or how to articulate in a way that would truly express my need for this. I don't know if there are words. I may have to create new ones.
Did I mention I am an incurable extrovert? That said, this is speaking volumes here.
But then, I have to wonder if anyone is completely satisfied with their lives. The logical part of my brain tells me that we certainly would not be motivated in the least if we were. What would drive us to keep changing and growing as people if we were absolutely comfortable in every way, and everything was perfect? I think if everything was perfect, and I was completely comfortable, I would want to stay put.
Still, I know myself. I would get bored even in the most idyllic situation, and try to find something else to do. Perhaps I don't have enough life experience to say what I'm about to say, but honestly, I feel that things just aren't all that interesting without some conflict, contrast, or disconnect. This is the sort of thing that reminds you that you are alive, and that life is supposed to be a challenge. (I am not referring to the sort of activity that creates unnecessary drama. I am SO over that.) But life has a way of twisting, turning, and morphing on its own. This, to me, can be very interesting and I try to look at these times as opportunity for personal growth.
After all, obtained happiness isn't what life is about. The pursuit on the other hand? Why, yes!
We can certainly stay in one place for a while, but when it's time to move on, it's time to move on. And we do it. Because we have to.
One of the things I often repeat to myself is the old adage: "This too, shall pass." Trying to make the best of what I have to work with now is how I cope. It's not always easy, and I don't always succeed, but I try. And there are times when it simply exhausts me; really, and truly. But I keep going, and I keep trying to find things that interest me. I surround myself with people who inspire me. I avoid the ones who drain me. I can at least hope that I am, in turn, inspiring to some.
So, I may be bag of dry crackers being held by a hippie stumbling out of the woods, but I know that this is a temporary feeling, and I am remarkably adaptable. I will get through this dry time, and I will be fine, because I have the tools to lead me, and I know how to use them. And if I don't, I simply ask for help from someone who I trust, feel safe around, and does know.
This may actually be the key to something important. Like life.
-H
Sunday, April 10, 2011
An unexpected evening of music and fun!
Last night, MicroSqueak and I were waiting for dinner to bake in the oven. We sat in one of my wing chairs together watching youtube on my laptop, and she asked me to play "The uber dramatic song with the wolves". Her words. No lie. She's 4, and she's a pistol. She also has a love for Harry Nilsson.
She is right. This photo montage is all very... dramatic.
But this is right in line with the stuff I grew up with. Figured it's only fair to play stuff from my childhood for her. Remember "The Point"? If you are a child of the '70s, you probably do. It had hit songs in it such as: "Think about your troubles", and "Me And My Arrow". I loved both of those. And who can forget "I'd Rather Be Dead", or "You're Breakin' My heart?" OK, that one also deserves an embed, although it isn't safe for work, for those of you who haven't heard it. Still. Pure awesome.
From what I gathered, it was about his divorce from his first wife, and sounds accurate. She was all serious and responsible, and every night was a party for that guy. Yeah, hard to see it working... although he did go on to remarry and have... what was it? 6 kids? Damn!
After dinner, I was sitting with my glass of wine, still listening to Harry via youtube, and realized I needed to up my music collection... and I was bored! And the kids were already abed. And Mr. Hed was being a wet blanket. So... I called my friend Sandy, and off we went to the wrecka stow, so I could pick some up right away. After that, we drove around for a little while, listening. She hadn't heard of him before, but I played the "Uber-Dramatic Song With The Wolves" for her, and she recognized that, along with this one:
Most people do with those two songs. Thanks, Mariah Carey, and advertising industry...
We crossed the Hawthorne Bridge, and I realized I just wasn't ready to go back home yet. I remembered hearing of a show that a friend of old, (Ezra Holbrook,) was going to be in at a neighbourhood bar, so that's where we ended up. I hadn't seen him play in about 15 years. It was a neat show, for sure, and good to see that talented guy do what he does best, along with a bunch of other talented people who came and went as they seemingly pleased. I love it when music is like that; informal, spontaneous, and shares a certain intimacy with the crowd. It can feel like you are part of it, and that it's happening in your own home.
I also love my spontaneous friends. It is so nice to be able to find someone to just skip out with at night, and have a great evening!
-H
She is right. This photo montage is all very... dramatic.
But this is right in line with the stuff I grew up with. Figured it's only fair to play stuff from my childhood for her. Remember "The Point"? If you are a child of the '70s, you probably do. It had hit songs in it such as: "Think about your troubles", and "Me And My Arrow". I loved both of those. And who can forget "I'd Rather Be Dead", or "You're Breakin' My heart?" OK, that one also deserves an embed, although it isn't safe for work, for those of you who haven't heard it. Still. Pure awesome.
From what I gathered, it was about his divorce from his first wife, and sounds accurate. She was all serious and responsible, and every night was a party for that guy. Yeah, hard to see it working... although he did go on to remarry and have... what was it? 6 kids? Damn!
After dinner, I was sitting with my glass of wine, still listening to Harry via youtube, and realized I needed to up my music collection... and I was bored! And the kids were already abed. And Mr. Hed was being a wet blanket. So... I called my friend Sandy, and off we went to the wrecka stow, so I could pick some up right away. After that, we drove around for a little while, listening. She hadn't heard of him before, but I played the "Uber-Dramatic Song With The Wolves" for her, and she recognized that, along with this one:
Most people do with those two songs. Thanks, Mariah Carey, and advertising industry...
We crossed the Hawthorne Bridge, and I realized I just wasn't ready to go back home yet. I remembered hearing of a show that a friend of old, (Ezra Holbrook,) was going to be in at a neighbourhood bar, so that's where we ended up. I hadn't seen him play in about 15 years. It was a neat show, for sure, and good to see that talented guy do what he does best, along with a bunch of other talented people who came and went as they seemingly pleased. I love it when music is like that; informal, spontaneous, and shares a certain intimacy with the crowd. It can feel like you are part of it, and that it's happening in your own home.
I also love my spontaneous friends. It is so nice to be able to find someone to just skip out with at night, and have a great evening!
-H
Monday, April 4, 2011
By Request: My Olive Dip.
I started this post a while back, then ADHD took over, and apparently, I got distracted. But well? Here you go!
I don't currently have any of this on hand, and damn, I wish I did. This is really fabulous dip. It's also really simple to make, as it only has a few ingredients.
To do this the way I do, you'll have to shell out a little, but I'm telling you, it's worth it. There is one olive in particular that stands above the others and works best in this recipe. Nocellara del Belice, or Castelvetrano. These are very distinctive because of their bright green colour. And the flavour is also quite different from other olives. It is less bitter/briny, and more subtle. It also has a much fresher, cleaner taste than other olives.
Please. Do yourself a favour and listen to me here... OK?
Also? Kalamata olives; while tasty on their own, make this dip taste like creamed... tires. The texture is nice, but your dip will not be palatable in the least. Nothing fixes this, either. I have tried. Don't go there. Just... no. Tahini needs to be coddled... with subtlety. It needs to be dressed in something soft and gentle like a silk dress. Then? It needs to be treated like a lady. Don't expect her to bounce her healthy breasts on your Italian leather sofa. No, no. Adding Kalamata to Tahini is akin to taking a refined lady to a monster truck rally; forcing her to listen to Molly Hatchet on the way to and from said event.
No one involved is going to be comfortable with that situation.
OK. I've rambled long enough, and I'm sure you are asking yourself where the hell the recipe is at this point. Fine. It's coming. I... promise. It... is.
Mise en place:
Food processor
1 C Castelvetrano olives
1/2 jar Arrowhead mills Tahini (This is my favourite. Very smooth.)
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
zest of one lemon
1/4 cup olive oil
2 cloves fresh garlic
2 tb purified water
Method:
Add tahini, water, oil, and lemon to food processor, and pulse until mostly incorporated. This should emulsify beautifully and become creamy.
Run on high until smooth.
Add olives and garlic, and pulse until mostly smooth, and aerated.
Add the lemon zest at the last minute. You don't want to do this too soon, or it may become kind of bitter... or at least more bitter than what you are going for. You should expect brightness, not bitterness! Pulse for less time if you prefer it to still have some recognizable olive pulp.
Scoop out and serve with a little more olive oil on top... in something classier than an army helmet. Or if you are going for kitsch, why not use one?
-H
I don't currently have any of this on hand, and damn, I wish I did. This is really fabulous dip. It's also really simple to make, as it only has a few ingredients.
To do this the way I do, you'll have to shell out a little, but I'm telling you, it's worth it. There is one olive in particular that stands above the others and works best in this recipe. Nocellara del Belice, or Castelvetrano. These are very distinctive because of their bright green colour. And the flavour is also quite different from other olives. It is less bitter/briny, and more subtle. It also has a much fresher, cleaner taste than other olives.
Please. Do yourself a favour and listen to me here... OK?
Also? Kalamata olives; while tasty on their own, make this dip taste like creamed... tires. The texture is nice, but your dip will not be palatable in the least. Nothing fixes this, either. I have tried. Don't go there. Just... no. Tahini needs to be coddled... with subtlety. It needs to be dressed in something soft and gentle like a silk dress. Then? It needs to be treated like a lady. Don't expect her to bounce her healthy breasts on your Italian leather sofa. No, no. Adding Kalamata to Tahini is akin to taking a refined lady to a monster truck rally; forcing her to listen to Molly Hatchet on the way to and from said event.
No one involved is going to be comfortable with that situation.
OK. I've rambled long enough, and I'm sure you are asking yourself where the hell the recipe is at this point. Fine. It's coming. I... promise. It... is.
Mise en place:
Food processor
1 C Castelvetrano olives
1/2 jar Arrowhead mills Tahini (This is my favourite. Very smooth.)
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
zest of one lemon
1/4 cup olive oil
2 cloves fresh garlic
2 tb purified water
Method:
Add tahini, water, oil, and lemon to food processor, and pulse until mostly incorporated. This should emulsify beautifully and become creamy.
Run on high until smooth.
Add olives and garlic, and pulse until mostly smooth, and aerated.
Add the lemon zest at the last minute. You don't want to do this too soon, or it may become kind of bitter... or at least more bitter than what you are going for. You should expect brightness, not bitterness! Pulse for less time if you prefer it to still have some recognizable olive pulp.
Scoop out and serve with a little more olive oil on top... in something classier than an army helmet. Or if you are going for kitsch, why not use one?
-H
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Cacophobination
This weekend we went out to visit Mr. Hed's Grandma. She was... I'm going to say... true to form, rather than in rare form. A visit with her is always guaranteed to be wacky, and one is also guaranteed to end up snickering into the neckline of his or her top, once one gets enough space in the corner of a room to do so. One may also roll eyes at someone else in the room who may or may not believe her utterances.
But the former happens so much more often.
There are usually a few different things she will grab onto and run with. This weekend, it was Fear. The woman is addicted to fear. And TV. And fear on TV. In fact, she has two television sets, which are adjacent to one another in the living room. She will often have both going simultaneously. No exaggeration, and no joke. I have no idea how she absorbs anything from either set, as they are often playing very different things.
Last night, we were subjected to a show called: "It Could Happen Tomorrow!!!" This was all about earthquakes, and natural disasters, and the history of such things; what we have done in the past, what's in danger now, and... FEAR, FEAR, FEAR!!!!
We finally talked her into changing the channel... which of course, had to go to CNN. Oy'fuckin'vey!
Thankfully, some of Mr. Hed's friends showed up, and we escaped the living room, once in a while cackling about the combination Grandma had going, from the kitchen, where there is no way she could have heard us with that crazy cacophobination going full volume. At one point, we were having to yell at each other over simulcast SeanHannityEverybodyLovesRaymond.
Good times.
Did I mention she doesn't hear well? I suppose I can't hold that against her. But for the love of Ozzy... good GOD! Why play two shows at once? How can you possibly get anything but noise out of that?
At bedtime, she will play KGO Talk Radio at full blast on her clock set next to her bed. The poor clock set was only designed to play at that volume briefly; in the case of an alarm going off. It whines, whistles, and complains at the mere idea of doing this all night long, and this is what we often hear: "Shhhweeeeerrrr something political weeerrrshshshshskkkkgssshhhhweeeeee."
For hours.
I will say though, that am glad the whole weekend wasn't like this. We did, for the most part, have a pretty good visit with Grandma. Her wackiness is starting to become endearing, because good lord... you either decide to love it, or hate it.
Love is just... easier.
I am also kicking myself hard for not remembering my good camera. The weather was just gorgeous out there, and we made a couple quick little trips through the foothills of the Blue Mountains. I could have done some very cool things with a few key lenses and shutter speeds... if I had just remembered my fucking camera!
I tried taking a few photos with my droid phone, but damn. It is just not the same. I am very spoiled, and I hate the point and shoot approach. It is just... no good when you are used to the real thing, and having that much control over the photos you are taking. Just... no good at all!
From this moment on, I vow to NEVER leave home without my camera again! I suppose it may take me longer to arrive at my chosen destinations, but I feel that I have been lazy and therefore missing out on some really good things recently.
That needs to stop!
-H
But the former happens so much more often.
There are usually a few different things she will grab onto and run with. This weekend, it was Fear. The woman is addicted to fear. And TV. And fear on TV. In fact, she has two television sets, which are adjacent to one another in the living room. She will often have both going simultaneously. No exaggeration, and no joke. I have no idea how she absorbs anything from either set, as they are often playing very different things.
Last night, we were subjected to a show called: "It Could Happen Tomorrow!!!" This was all about earthquakes, and natural disasters, and the history of such things; what we have done in the past, what's in danger now, and... FEAR, FEAR, FEAR!!!!
We finally talked her into changing the channel... which of course, had to go to CNN. Oy'fuckin'vey!
Thankfully, some of Mr. Hed's friends showed up, and we escaped the living room, once in a while cackling about the combination Grandma had going, from the kitchen, where there is no way she could have heard us with that crazy cacophobination going full volume. At one point, we were having to yell at each other over simulcast SeanHannityEverybodyLovesRaymond.
Good times.
Did I mention she doesn't hear well? I suppose I can't hold that against her. But for the love of Ozzy... good GOD! Why play two shows at once? How can you possibly get anything but noise out of that?
At bedtime, she will play KGO Talk Radio at full blast on her clock set next to her bed. The poor clock set was only designed to play at that volume briefly; in the case of an alarm going off. It whines, whistles, and complains at the mere idea of doing this all night long, and this is what we often hear: "Shhhweeeeerrrr something political weeerrrshshshshskkkkgssshhhhweeeeee."
For hours.
I will say though, that am glad the whole weekend wasn't like this. We did, for the most part, have a pretty good visit with Grandma. Her wackiness is starting to become endearing, because good lord... you either decide to love it, or hate it.
Love is just... easier.
I am also kicking myself hard for not remembering my good camera. The weather was just gorgeous out there, and we made a couple quick little trips through the foothills of the Blue Mountains. I could have done some very cool things with a few key lenses and shutter speeds... if I had just remembered my fucking camera!
I tried taking a few photos with my droid phone, but damn. It is just not the same. I am very spoiled, and I hate the point and shoot approach. It is just... no good when you are used to the real thing, and having that much control over the photos you are taking. Just... no good at all!
From this moment on, I vow to NEVER leave home without my camera again! I suppose it may take me longer to arrive at my chosen destinations, but I feel that I have been lazy and therefore missing out on some really good things recently.
That needs to stop!
-H
Friday, April 1, 2011
The Day I Had A Boob... At Age 9.
I have decided to go through my old stories and do a few vintage imports... maybe a story a week or something, because I like keeping that stuff available for people to read. So, without further adieu, I bring you:
The Day I Had A Boob. At Age 9.
Yes. A boob. No, not plural. Just one.
See, I was 9 years old, and riding in the back seat of my mom's 1976 Ford Mustang Ghia, which had a sunroof. We were on our way to my Uncle Joe's house in Valencia, probably driving down the 118 freeway, en route to I-5. In fact, I know we were, because I remember seeing the rocks along the hillside overlooking Simi Valley, and had started looking to my right to see the city from above, when the horribly traumatizing, life-changing impact took place.
Just for background, I'll let you know, dear reader, that my parents smoked at the time. Hell, everyone still smoked then. Restaurants with non-smoking sections were still rare. I'm old. Shut up. Anyway, all of the windows were open, as was the sun roof, since it was August, and hot. My mom never ran the air conditioning when she would go over hills like that one, because cars were known to overheat as a result.
Anyway, I remember looking over the city, when I felt it. It was like a hot, searing, burning, mind fucking pain, almost electric shock-like... one I'd never felt before, on my little pre-pubescent chestal area. I opened my shirt, and saw something that looked orangy-red moving back and forth like a miniature flaming toxic waste drum that had just been knocked over, and let out a scream. At first, I thought it was a cigarette ember. I was primed for a split-second to give them an angry lecture on the dangers of smoking! But... alas... upon closer examination, I realized what it really was.
A honey bee.
Its little body was broken from its stinger by then, with its wet, feathery, frayed, sinewy abdomen... crawling around as if to say: "What the fuck is happening to me?"
The severed stinger throbbed and pulsed its poison under my skin. I really found the both halves; the moving body, and the undulating stinger severely creepy. In fact, at the time, this weird fact of science nauseated me, and I almost passed out.
I had no idea what else to do but scream... scream as loud as I could.
I screamed so loudly my mom came close to wrecking the car.
She pulled over, I got out, and dropped the bee's body from my shirt. Still though, none of us knew how to properly remove the stinger from my skin, which was, by now, red and swollen, so we decided that we would need to wait until we got to my Uncle's house, where my grandmother (a nurse,) would also be, and would likely know how to remove it.
I tried so hard not to look at it. The drive there seemed agonizingly long. Literally. The pain was intense, and still electrical in nature. Still, I couldn't help it. The stinger seemed like a well pump, just going to town. I had no idea they did that until it happened to me, and my little non-boob.
No idea at all.
When we finally arrived, my grandmother took me into a private room and tweezed the stinger out, somehow coaxing the barb along with the rest of the stinger. It all came out in one fell swoop, nothing left behind. She then gave me ice to put on the affected area.
Ahhh... Sort of.
And I had a boob. A very red boob. Yes. Just one. No, not plural. Painful as it was, I wished there had been two bees so I would have at least looked balanced.
Thinking about that at the time, I flashed back to another time, when I wanted to be Afro-American. I tried to paint myself black with black watercolour paint. I started with my feet, and only made it up to my knees, at which point, the little pot of paint was empty, and I couldn't finish. My parents thought I wanted knee socks. I can't remember if I ever told them what I actually wanted. I think by then my dream was completely dashed, so I probably said nothing. Ho, hum.
And still, at the time, it made me laugh, and almost forget about my single, pained bright red boobie.
Nope. Couldn't win as a kid. Just couldn't.
-H
The Day I Had A Boob. At Age 9.
Yes. A boob. No, not plural. Just one.
See, I was 9 years old, and riding in the back seat of my mom's 1976 Ford Mustang Ghia, which had a sunroof. We were on our way to my Uncle Joe's house in Valencia, probably driving down the 118 freeway, en route to I-5. In fact, I know we were, because I remember seeing the rocks along the hillside overlooking Simi Valley, and had started looking to my right to see the city from above, when the horribly traumatizing, life-changing impact took place.
Just for background, I'll let you know, dear reader, that my parents smoked at the time. Hell, everyone still smoked then. Restaurants with non-smoking sections were still rare. I'm old. Shut up. Anyway, all of the windows were open, as was the sun roof, since it was August, and hot. My mom never ran the air conditioning when she would go over hills like that one, because cars were known to overheat as a result.
Anyway, I remember looking over the city, when I felt it. It was like a hot, searing, burning, mind fucking pain, almost electric shock-like... one I'd never felt before, on my little pre-pubescent chestal area. I opened my shirt, and saw something that looked orangy-red moving back and forth like a miniature flaming toxic waste drum that had just been knocked over, and let out a scream. At first, I thought it was a cigarette ember. I was primed for a split-second to give them an angry lecture on the dangers of smoking! But... alas... upon closer examination, I realized what it really was.
A honey bee.
Its little body was broken from its stinger by then, with its wet, feathery, frayed, sinewy abdomen... crawling around as if to say: "What the fuck is happening to me?"
The severed stinger throbbed and pulsed its poison under my skin. I really found the both halves; the moving body, and the undulating stinger severely creepy. In fact, at the time, this weird fact of science nauseated me, and I almost passed out.
I had no idea what else to do but scream... scream as loud as I could.
I screamed so loudly my mom came close to wrecking the car.
She pulled over, I got out, and dropped the bee's body from my shirt. Still though, none of us knew how to properly remove the stinger from my skin, which was, by now, red and swollen, so we decided that we would need to wait until we got to my Uncle's house, where my grandmother (a nurse,) would also be, and would likely know how to remove it.
I tried so hard not to look at it. The drive there seemed agonizingly long. Literally. The pain was intense, and still electrical in nature. Still, I couldn't help it. The stinger seemed like a well pump, just going to town. I had no idea they did that until it happened to me, and my little non-boob.
No idea at all.
When we finally arrived, my grandmother took me into a private room and tweezed the stinger out, somehow coaxing the barb along with the rest of the stinger. It all came out in one fell swoop, nothing left behind. She then gave me ice to put on the affected area.
Ahhh... Sort of.
And I had a boob. A very red boob. Yes. Just one. No, not plural. Painful as it was, I wished there had been two bees so I would have at least looked balanced.
Thinking about that at the time, I flashed back to another time, when I wanted to be Afro-American. I tried to paint myself black with black watercolour paint. I started with my feet, and only made it up to my knees, at which point, the little pot of paint was empty, and I couldn't finish. My parents thought I wanted knee socks. I can't remember if I ever told them what I actually wanted. I think by then my dream was completely dashed, so I probably said nothing. Ho, hum.
And still, at the time, it made me laugh, and almost forget about my single, pained bright red boobie.
Nope. Couldn't win as a kid. Just couldn't.
-H
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
They say she talks to strangers...
Today was interesting. I had a concentration of invites for this particular night, and chose the one most important to me. Then I got sick, so I texted my friend, and... it turns out he was also not feeling great, so we had to postpone. Sigh... oh well. It will happen. It will. I pinky swear!
I went through most of the day using my neti pot, munching whole cloves of garlic raw, taking grapefruit seed extract, vitamin D, adrenal cortex, fish oil, lots of citrus fruit, about a gallon and a half of water, topped with a huge pot of tea. By evening, I was feeling quite a bit better. I'm a Neti-Yeti... or... Neti Hero, according to auto-correct. Whichever, I've got stars in my eyes tonight. Hopefully I am getting rid of this nasty bug that plagued both of my daughters for more than a week, and it doesn't turn into a chest cold, which was the main drag for both of them.
Did I mention I'm kind of a nerd? But... hey. When I mean business, I mean business! And also? I apparently know my Foreigner songs. Not something I'm all that proud of, but when you had no choice as a kid but listen to them in your dad's car until you had saved up enough allowance to buy a walkman cassette player, this is the card you had to play. And we lived in LA. Nothing was ever close or easy to get to in a reasonable amount of time. NOTHING!
So, I heard a lot of Foreigner. Yes. Yes, I did.
It was pretty good motivation though I still damn my ability to memorize songs, and if "LuAnne" still isn't burned into my memory... oh lord. Help me.
Anyway, tonight, I decided to go grocery shopping after Mr. Hed got home from work, since my plans had been canceled and I was basically just sort of teetering on the wall separating well, and unwell. And... we were out of most things in the way of... food. I also didn't have the energy today to deal with both children in the grocery store. (Which was my original plan. I like to get there when the store opens for minimal drama, but that just wasn't happenin' earlier.)
They love to dance, twirl, walk backward, and make my head spin. I am lucky when I leave with every item I wrote down before the trip when I have to take both of them. I have to be very alert to keep the kids, the people around us, and breakable merchandise safe. This usually results in sensory overload for mama, and I have to hide in the closet curled up in the fetal position for about 15 minutes before I can even unload the bags. (OK, I added that last part for dramatic effect. Please. Nobody commit me.)
So when I get a chance to go without them, I take it.
For some reason this evening... I'm not sure if it was because I looked like a good listener or what, everyone wanted to talk to me. It was actually pretty nice, since I hadn't had much adult interaction for the past couple days. But really. Everywhere, someone had a story for me.
I was wearing a pair of earrings that I purchased last year at Nomad Body Piercing. They are easily my favourite pair; made of plain burl wood, and carved in a very unique design looping around the lobe, at a zero gauge. Blake, the owner of the shop, only made 10 pairs... in various sizes. I was lucky enough to find a pair in my size, and snag them for my very own. They are pretty special, and I wear them often.
Everywhere I went tonight, people had something to say about them. One guy I talked to actually knew Blake, and told me stories about his shop when it was still in San Francisco! (I had actually commented on his plugs to start off with.) They were probably about a 1/2 inch in diameter, and rose quartz. They were gorgeous. He told me all about how he made body jewelry for a while, and how he had been stretching since about 1992. He mentioned how the stone plugs were a little too burdensome to wear all the time, and he was starting to seek out lighter weight materials. I couldn't believe he had never tried buffalo horn before! I think that's my favourite material, personally. It is very lightweight, and usually found in ornately carved styles.
It is interesting how something as simple as a piece of jewelry can spark a conversation that goes on and on next to the butter in the store down the street with a complete stranger. It's cool though. Tonight, I welcomed it. I was just happy to be out of the house for a while, and perfectly happy to have my ear talked off... while I talked an ear off... about all things "ear".
Later on, at a different store, I was in the check-out line, which was sort of long for the time of night it was. (I was actually pretty surprised!) There, I got into a great discussion about fallout, and seaweed products being a good choice over potassium iodide pills. The girl behind me in line told me about different ways to prepare kelp noodles, and we both sort of drooled at the thought of nori... with anything. Then the girl bagging my groceries asked if I was on a low-carb sort of thing, and while I guess I am, it has more to do with the dietary stuff I have to deal with so my asthma doesn't go all crazy.
Walking out to my car, I was in a pretty good mood. Everyone has a story, and it's fun to hear them when I have time, and am not in tunnelvisionland with my kids. As I put the groceries into the trunk of my car, I suddenly realized I had forgotten to buy milk, so... back into the store I went!
This time, in the checkout line, the girl in front of me noticed that the cashier was wearing a gingham button, and said: "Wow. You are wearing a gingham button. That's kinda nifty! Ever heard of 'The Gingham Dog And The Calico Cat?'"
He hadn't. But... I had! And... before I knew it, this girl and I were reciting it for him.
Methinks I really needed to get out tonight, even if I didn't get to do the really fun stuff I had planned. And apparently? Fun is in the eye of the beholder. It's everywhere, people! You don't have to look far!
-H
I went through most of the day using my neti pot, munching whole cloves of garlic raw, taking grapefruit seed extract, vitamin D, adrenal cortex, fish oil, lots of citrus fruit, about a gallon and a half of water, topped with a huge pot of tea. By evening, I was feeling quite a bit better. I'm a Neti-Yeti... or... Neti Hero, according to auto-correct. Whichever, I've got stars in my eyes tonight. Hopefully I am getting rid of this nasty bug that plagued both of my daughters for more than a week, and it doesn't turn into a chest cold, which was the main drag for both of them.
Did I mention I'm kind of a nerd? But... hey. When I mean business, I mean business! And also? I apparently know my Foreigner songs. Not something I'm all that proud of, but when you had no choice as a kid but listen to them in your dad's car until you had saved up enough allowance to buy a walkman cassette player, this is the card you had to play. And we lived in LA. Nothing was ever close or easy to get to in a reasonable amount of time. NOTHING!
So, I heard a lot of Foreigner. Yes. Yes, I did.
It was pretty good motivation though I still damn my ability to memorize songs, and if "LuAnne" still isn't burned into my memory... oh lord. Help me.
Anyway, tonight, I decided to go grocery shopping after Mr. Hed got home from work, since my plans had been canceled and I was basically just sort of teetering on the wall separating well, and unwell. And... we were out of most things in the way of... food. I also didn't have the energy today to deal with both children in the grocery store. (Which was my original plan. I like to get there when the store opens for minimal drama, but that just wasn't happenin' earlier.)
They love to dance, twirl, walk backward, and make my head spin. I am lucky when I leave with every item I wrote down before the trip when I have to take both of them. I have to be very alert to keep the kids, the people around us, and breakable merchandise safe. This usually results in sensory overload for mama, and I have to hide in the closet curled up in the fetal position for about 15 minutes before I can even unload the bags. (OK, I added that last part for dramatic effect. Please. Nobody commit me.)
So when I get a chance to go without them, I take it.
For some reason this evening... I'm not sure if it was because I looked like a good listener or what, everyone wanted to talk to me. It was actually pretty nice, since I hadn't had much adult interaction for the past couple days. But really. Everywhere, someone had a story for me.
I was wearing a pair of earrings that I purchased last year at Nomad Body Piercing. They are easily my favourite pair; made of plain burl wood, and carved in a very unique design looping around the lobe, at a zero gauge. Blake, the owner of the shop, only made 10 pairs... in various sizes. I was lucky enough to find a pair in my size, and snag them for my very own. They are pretty special, and I wear them often.
Everywhere I went tonight, people had something to say about them. One guy I talked to actually knew Blake, and told me stories about his shop when it was still in San Francisco! (I had actually commented on his plugs to start off with.) They were probably about a 1/2 inch in diameter, and rose quartz. They were gorgeous. He told me all about how he made body jewelry for a while, and how he had been stretching since about 1992. He mentioned how the stone plugs were a little too burdensome to wear all the time, and he was starting to seek out lighter weight materials. I couldn't believe he had never tried buffalo horn before! I think that's my favourite material, personally. It is very lightweight, and usually found in ornately carved styles.
It is interesting how something as simple as a piece of jewelry can spark a conversation that goes on and on next to the butter in the store down the street with a complete stranger. It's cool though. Tonight, I welcomed it. I was just happy to be out of the house for a while, and perfectly happy to have my ear talked off... while I talked an ear off... about all things "ear".
Later on, at a different store, I was in the check-out line, which was sort of long for the time of night it was. (I was actually pretty surprised!) There, I got into a great discussion about fallout, and seaweed products being a good choice over potassium iodide pills. The girl behind me in line told me about different ways to prepare kelp noodles, and we both sort of drooled at the thought of nori... with anything. Then the girl bagging my groceries asked if I was on a low-carb sort of thing, and while I guess I am, it has more to do with the dietary stuff I have to deal with so my asthma doesn't go all crazy.
Walking out to my car, I was in a pretty good mood. Everyone has a story, and it's fun to hear them when I have time, and am not in tunnelvisionland with my kids. As I put the groceries into the trunk of my car, I suddenly realized I had forgotten to buy milk, so... back into the store I went!
This time, in the checkout line, the girl in front of me noticed that the cashier was wearing a gingham button, and said: "Wow. You are wearing a gingham button. That's kinda nifty! Ever heard of 'The Gingham Dog And The Calico Cat?'"
He hadn't. But... I had! And... before I knew it, this girl and I were reciting it for him.
Methinks I really needed to get out tonight, even if I didn't get to do the really fun stuff I had planned. And apparently? Fun is in the eye of the beholder. It's everywhere, people! You don't have to look far!
-H
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