family


pussyfoot….maiow

Cats who disappear without a trace leave us no closure or finality, except for Slinky: I found her when the snow melted. They don’t leave notes telling us why they ran away. Like the last episode of the Sopranos, the possibiities are only as limited as your imagination and your willingness to face the violent truth.

I ran away from home exactly twice in my life, once when I was four or five, and once again after I was married for a few too many years. Both times I left notes. My mother saved the first one because she thought it was cute, and my ex husband saved the second one and brought it in to my shrink for analysis. In essence, they were the same:

“I leffed home frum yur famly becoz yu were meen too me. I am tacking blanky and bluey.” (Bluey was the name I had given to my favorite pillow)

That’s what the first one said, the charming mispells and scrawled, kindergarten handwriting (yes, I was so eager to read and write I learned way before my time, just like my daughter did) . Oh, and I illustrated it, of course 😉 With a stick figure of a sad little girl with one of those hobo packs over her shoulder.

The second note was called “My Life As A Ghost”. Somewhere around here I still have a copy of it. It should be entered in some psychological journal somewhere as a disturbing self portrait of a woman experiencing severe dissociation as a result from living too long and too closely with a clinically diagnosed narcissist. It was all about how since no one could see me, I was fading away piece by piece, and basically, was running away before I lost what I had left.

The last note was followed by an addendum which stated I’d be taking our daughter, George the rabbit, the Saab 900, my two jade trees, the Le Creuset and some clothing, and signed

I Quit,
Your Ex-Wife

There are times I feel like writing a third note, entitled “Fuck All Y’All”, but I don’t because I have a daughter, three ( soon to be four) cats and a puppy that no one else would put up with, to take care of. My daughter is not home for 24 hrs and already her father is fucking with us. My electricity got shut off ( it’s back on, obviously) and I took at least a dozen crisis calls from the fat angry incompetent bitches at work ON MY DAY OFF!

I’m getting hate mail from some psycho who thinks I stole her boyfriend ( an amusing side note, really), while I was on the phone with my boss fixing her problems she alluded to my ‘dressing like a slut’. Ah well….at least I can still almost pull it off…let’s see: a daughter in tears over our finances….could my day get any better? Thank god for Peter, who in his infinitely twisted goodness, gave the remainder of his bottle of codeine cough syrup to me. I had a very peaceful sleep.

All things in moderation. I’m not about to write the final ‘I Ran Away From Home’ note, or destroy myself a little at a time, because I will not have that family legacy passed on to the lovely young lady who is still asleep in her room at 11AM on a day when she really should be out looking for a summer job. Let her rest. I love her more than anything and will sell a kidney on eBay if I have to.

Nana is asleep and snoring in the big chair and one more day we’re allright.

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hangover

I’m Still At Yahoo 360
According to “The Secret language of Birthdays” I pay inadequate concern to negative energy and I ignore resentment in others, all of which are quite capable of surfacing swiftly and blowing up in my face.

Is that ever true;)And because of my transcendant, Piscean nature I am more likely to try and adapt to a situation rather than flee for my life, for years at a time. I’m also guilty of the “Why-Should-I-Let These-People-Spoil-My-Good-Time” approach to problem solving. Oh but it gets worse. I can’t resist paying the occasional well-aimed, oddly-inverted compliment to people who annoy me. This is unlucky when it’s La Grande Patrón who has parked her whale of a dorsal hump as well as those of her friends en la mesa you were saving para su camaradas a beber y bailando, refusing to relinquish said seats upon their fashionably late arrival. I swear, some people get fat just so they can take up more room.

Her persistance did pay off later in the evening when I introduced her to a la amiga mío que posee que dos casas hermosas she would love to have in her piscina de la renta. Sus ojos encendidos arriba con avaricia. Don’t say I never gave you nada’;D

Both Bradley and I attempted to set an example of what we believe to be good manners mountain style: we fetched them their first drinks. My daughter just ignored them all till it came time for introductions and then flashed that disarming smile of hers. Resistance is futile. We illicitely added rum to her can of cola because she was such a good sport.

But nevermind all that, it was an awesome party. My compliments to the chef and whoever’s idea it was to invite the whole town for free food and booze. I vaguely remember my power lesbian friend trying to fix me up with her Italian contractor who allegedly has las calientes para mi, and then finding a quick ride home before I was forced to come face to face with this hombre de mistero. I was too borracho. No good would have come out of it. He is alto y moreno and looked pretty guapo after a bottle and a half of Oregon Pinot Gris.

The road home was swarming with la policia and it was a good thing I didn’t have my car because I would probably still be in jail. Bradley did get pulled over in his Country Squire, and charmed his way out of it. I can’t say enough good things about good manners.

OK now I hit publish?