family

Life: You must be this tall to ride.

Some days are spent in an eternal click-clacking climb up the first hill. Some days are a hands-up, no seat belt freefall down the biggest slope on the ride.

Things have been so random lately. Not necessarily random bad, just random.

School started. Lovey's teacher is normal. Mine is, well, not. I feel bad for people in the class who weren't able to attend the live chat because if they just go by what the assignment says, they'll be lucky to sqeak by with a C. She wants so much more than it says. I'll just be fortunate that I was able to attend.

Kiddo's bus driver got lost yesterday. They apparently have a problem hiring and keeping drivers. The driver got mad at the kids for, I guess being kids, and called the cops. Kiddo watched two of her FEMALE friends (no more than 14 years old, good students, good kids in general) get HANDCUFFED and put in the police car and driven away. Is it just me or is this ridiculous? Those were city cops, by the way. A "school police" officer was there also. He was still there when I arrived at 5:20 when Kiddo is usually at home no later than 4:45. I politely asked him what I needed to do to get my child out of this situation. His brilliant response complete with stupid facial expression? "Uh, tell her to get off the bus." Thank you! My tax dollars hard at work. By the way, school lets out at 3:40 so nearly two hours of drama and trauma.

Things are not all bad. I still have a job, albeit one that I do not love. I cannot even go into what transpired today alone to make me feel this way, but suffice it to say that I have to deal with things that are ridiculous.

I still got paid last Friday. I will still (hopefully) receive a bonus this Friday. I will still receive my tax-free loan repayment from Uncle Sam before the middle of next week.

My mother called me and in her random way tells me the story of how her husband's great-grandfather used to be the president of the country he is from (not this one, lol). He had land that the government seized and built a rather large facility on. There seems to be some sort of settlement for the family to the tune of a large chunk of change. I don't know why she is telling me this. I refuse to get my hopes up that I will finally "hit the lottery" and be relieved of working because I have to and be allowed to work if, when, and where I want to.

The Florida lottery is up to 20 million dollars. Yes, I will blow 10 dollars that could be used for better good and buy tickets.

(Sorry guys) I have an appointment with my GYN today. I'm hoping he can explain a few things like why my last few periods have been excrutiating when I've never had a problem with them before, why I wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat when the air is at 64 and I'm naked, and why I have a declining drive. Perimenopause anyone? Wonderful, no? I'm only 34 dammit.

Speaking of getting old, I was listening to Sirius and they were playing Sweet Child O' Mine (Gunners). I looked at the station and it was Classic Rewind. CLASSIC REWIND! After I was insulted, I realized that the song is nearly 20 years old. How's that for a slap in the face?

Still, with all this, I love my life. I love that I have family who cares. My extended family cares (Lovey's family). I love that my brother is all kinds of wacky but he's true to himself and to BMX racing. I love that I have a job that pays me a stupid amount of money even though I put up with some dumb shit. I love that I have the opportunity to go back to school and get a degree in something that actually interests me. I love that our family trio has our health. I love that we have a roof over our heads, even if it's in a city that I can't stand.

I love that you will listen to this and not tell me how silly I am.

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Home from the holidays

No, not home for the holidays, I'm home from the holidays.

Lovey and I packed up the truck with Kiddo, Pooch and presents and took a (short) road trip to Jacksonville. Did you know that there's basically nothing to see on I-95 between Miami and Jacksonville? Now you do and you have proof: no pictures.

Kiddo did find it highly amusing that when we stopped for a bathroom break she saw a couple: black female with dreds and a (quite possibly) hispanic, bald male. I don't, by any means, think we're the only mixed couple in the world, but that is a little bit odd to run into your twin couple at a rest stop off the highway.

So, for the actual three days in Jax, we stayed at La Quinta. Nothing fancy but they sport king beds with pillowtop mattresses and they welcome Pooch with open paws, so we like it there. And if we get hungry in the middle of the night, there's a Denny's within a 2 minute walk. Hello Moons Over My Hammy!

It isn't often that we all get together, so when we do, there's the obligatory family photo. We are one mixed up group.

Xmas_family

I look like I got punched in the eye, but oh well. Out of those 13 people, I'm related to 3 by blood, 7 by marriage, one I just met, and one is my Lovey. You figure it out. 😛

The story of the trip goes a little something like this:

Mom was rummaging through the liquor cabinet and she pulled out a bottle of pear brandy that had the pear in the bottle. Ever wonder how they get the pear in the bottle? Yeah, me too. Well, step-sister says that she knows the answer. They GROW IT IN THE BOTTLE! And of course, this MUST be true because she saw it on TV. Apparently in Jax, they have crackhead TV or something of the sort. After she made this revelation, the room just got quiet. Until Lovey broke the silence with a "WHAT?" Yep, that's my guy. She still swore that they grew the pear in the bottle. Right. They grow a whole tree inside the bottle until it grows only one pear then they chop off that pear, leave it in the bottle, and then pull the tree out of the bottle, scrape out all the dirt and fill it with brandy. I have never laughed so hard in my whole life. My mom had to come in the kitchen to tell me to cut it out because I was literally on the floor laughing. Good times.

Other than that, it was just good family times. A lot of Wii playing, drinking and talking about the good old days. Mom and her husband (no, he's not my step-father, sorry, long story) promised that next year they were doing Christmas with the Kranks, as in, don't look for them, they won't be around. More power to them, I say. I'd like to do something in the way of a family cruise or something, but I wouldn't want to give up a ski vacation for it. 8 days to Park City!!

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It could only come from a grandparent

Growing up, we were a pretty tightly knit community. My parents had the standard 2.2 kids (myself, my brother, and a half-brother that we never saw….until one day….and I didn't know…but that's another story), a decent house, they worked, we played. We had a ton of neighbors (which made it so terribly difficult to throw a secret party) of which happened to include my grandparents.

I loved my grandparents and I still do even though they've passed on. They provided me with all the love and attention a little kid could stand. My mother tells me that when I was about 3 or 4, yes I was a precocious little bugger, I packed a plastic bag with my stuffed animals and proceeded to walk out the door. She asked where I was going and I told her that I was running away. And at the ripe old age of 4, I told her, "And you be good!" and off I went to my Gram's house.

Ah, Gram's house. So much packed into a little place. So many memories, so many stories. A book has got to be forthcoming. Working title: Adventures of a Younger Me. I digress.

My grandparents were characters. Gram was very church oriented with Sunday School every week, choir practice, and the like. Pop, on the other hand, no church for him thank you very much. Except holidays when Gram made him go of course. Pop had a ritual that he followed just about daily and through the years, I got to see different parts of it. The best thing though, hands down, about Gram and Pop, were the things they did and said. These people who had lived through World Wars, being born in 1910 and 1912, lived through so many race issues, kids, grandkids, so much life!

And lively they were. Once, I walked into the house to find Gram sitting at the kitchen table with some friends from church drinking beer! To me, that was a huge deal. And the topper was that just as I was walking in, someone at that grey-haired, little old lady table ripped the hugest belch I had ever heard. At the time, I was stunned. Looking back on it makes me laugh hysterically. I mean, come on (Timmy), 5 or 6 little old ladies (I'd say they all had to be in their late 60s by then) drinking beer. No bibles, just beer. Wonderful!

Pop, well, I could go on for days about Pop, but if you really wanna know, keep bugging me to get the book finished. But, I will share this one story with you.

My father, may he rest in peace, was born in 1945. So, in his teens and early 20s, black people and their hair were going through a revolution. The young folk were getting their hair "conked", meaning straightened more or less, evidenced by the late, great Godfather of Soul, James Brown.

Brown_james

That hair looks shiny, even in black and white, for a reason. It was more often than not, just plain greasy.

Now, Pop, being a traditionalist and not much for the fads of the day, didn't care much for my dad having his hair in such a manner, but he apparently held that in for years and years and years until he could share that sentiment with me one day. When that day arrived, he said to me in no uncertain terms that,

"Back in the day, your dad had a greasy mess on his head. He had his hair conked. There was so much grease in his hair, that a fly would need chains to land on it."

Flat out hysterical. If you come from a warmer climate and aren't familliar with the reference, when it's cold and snowy, sometimes you put chains on your tires to get a better grip on the road.

Maybe you had to be there. Maybe you'd just have had to have known him. But maybe, maybe you don't.

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Sliding into home (part 2)

Part 2 insinuates a continuation from the first part, but that is not what this is.

I grew up in the late 70s – early 80s, child of sports fans. Many a summer evening was spent in Three Rivers Stadium watching the Pirates beat up on whomever was in town. As such, we knew of the greats (at least Pittsburgh greats) Willie Stargell, Dave Parker, and later the outfield to die for of Bonilla, Bonds, and Van Slyke.

My brother, try though he might, could never quite keep Stargell and Parker straight and would end up yelling "Willie Parker!" as he slid into any base. (Who knew he was calling out to a current Steeler?) In case you weren't alive then, little kids shorts then looked something like this:

Shorts

Maybe a little more loose in the leg, but you can get the idea. At any rate, the three musketeers were doing their daily musketeer things like running around, yelling, jumping off of the highest thing possible, etc. We were headed to the bottom of the hill when my brother took it upon himself to scream out "Willie Parker!" and perform his best slide into home. Herein lies the problem. You see, this quiet and gentle boy just didn't happen to put on any underwear on this particular day and as he slid down the hill with one leg outstretched in the classic slide position, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a small brown penis, oh dear oh dear.

Yup, it popped right out. I don't remember exactly, but I'm gonna guess he was about 6 at the time, 7 at the oldest. Young enough for him not to be embarrassed (at least until he reads this post) and young enough for us not to make a big deal of it. But, out and out hysterical every time I think about it now. We continued on with our day as if nothing ever happened because, to us, nothing did happen. Do you know why? Because the family jewels are sacred!

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Sliding into home

Back in the day, the three musketeers were inseparable. My cousin Melanie, my brother and I. All separated by one year, all birthdays in December. The unified front against our cousins in Monessen. While Mel lived about 40 minutes away (in a slightly more upscale neighborhood), we always managed to spend a ridiculous amount of time together. Summers were especially awesome. We lived in a very rural area where the days were very long and filled with fun times. Our yard was huge as our grandparents lived right next door. (Great for escaping the house, terrible for sneaking out or sneaking people in.) They had a dog that was as big as a house, and being the Sagittarius that I am, I had a bond with that dog like no other. They tell me that I used to ride around on her back like she was a horse.

I recall one early Saturday afternoon in particular. I knew that Mel was coming to the house and I couldn't wait. I had friends around the house, but then, family was way more important. (Unfortunately, the musketeers, or at least one of them, went their separate ways and forgot how important family was and is.) I waited oh so impatiently to see my aunt's car come down our street.

Finally! They're here!

I ran out of our house like the proverbial bat out of hell. Full speed ahead down through our yard and into my grandparents yard. I was cute, I was graceful, I was small, and I was muscular. I was excited. I was covered in dog shit on my entire right side because in my haste, I didn't notice that the dog had dropped a bomb in my path. I was running full speed and planted a foot directly in poop and then tried to turn a corner. I was a running back on wet turf, tackled by number 2, Doo Doo Brown.

And this, this is the beautiful thing about family. There was no embarrassment. There was no mean laughing. We all laughed together as badly as I smelled. I took a shower, changed clothes, and play resumed like it never even happened. I guess that's how you know someone is family. They still love you no matter how much shit you're in. 🙂

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family

Life: You must be this tall to ride.

Home from the holidays

It could only come from a grandparent

Sliding into home (part 2)

Sliding into home

You Missed

Nothing To See Here

Too Damn Slow

Ghosts (of Days Gone By)

Raunchy Activated