booknboob.com Blog

One time I got a full body massage from a young male masseur who wouldn’t stop talking.  Not only did he state that it was obvious that this was my first massage by a man (it was) but he continued to jibber and jabber in the following fashion:

Do you have a garden?  I bet you do!  What do you grow?  Tomatoes.  Cucumbers.  Cute little clones of yourself?  Can you imagine if you cloned yourself?!?  You’d be in the grocery walking down your favorite aisle for that favorite food of yours, you know that food that you consider all your own, and you’d see yourself there buying out your favorite food and then you’d get in a fight with yourself.  It would be weird.  Would you mind turning over, under the sheet that is, I don’t look.

This is not a lie.

Is that light enough and funny enough for you?

That guy is probably a psycho-killer…

(more…)

I was listening to Fresh Air this afternoon.  An episode in which Terry Gross was interviewing late-in-life lesbian and comedian Carol Leifer.  (If you don’t know who Carol Leifer is, don’t feel bad, I didn’t either.  Perhaps I’m out of touch.)  And, I hate how I just prefaced Carol’s name by stating that she was a “late-in-life lesbian” but that’s what half the program was about.  Need I be ashamed?

Anyhow, this Ms. Leifer and her partner Lori, decided to become late-in-life mamas by adopting a little boy named Bruno.

I could go into the whole ain’t it neat that late-in-life women still have the opportunity to become mamas (as Leifer did) or into the whole this is a two-mama family raising a little boy thing (which Leifer did not).

But, I won’t.

I won’t because something more personal, maybe more profound, spoke to me about this conversation.  Leifer became, against all odds, a mama at 50.  And she commented that she is a better mama at 52 than she could have been at 22, 32, 42.  She explained how her place in life is so much more settled, more quiet, less go-go-go.  How now, as a 52 year old she is able to just slow-down, relax, and enjoy her son.

Hmm.

Now I’m kind-of wishing that my uterus would hang tough for another 20 years and allow me this revelation.

(more…)

They say to write what you know and write what you feel.  If I’m feeling depressed, it’s hard to write about anything else even about Silas’s new obsession:  the word and act of farting.

photos by my husband, Paul

Last weekend, I started a post in which I was describing a ho-hum afternoon:

It’s gray outside.  I’m still in my pajamas.

I’m trying to approach this fact with a glass half-full mentality.  It’s a luxury really.  To be in one’s pajamas at a quarter past one…

…Still, how do you conquer the afternoon in which you just can’t make it to the shower?  You know the type when you just stare at the yellow walls. Just stare.  Maybe wash a dish or two.  Get tired.  Continue staring.

That’s the kind of afternoon that I’m having.

…I’m completely unmotivated.  Not even to eat really.  And, now with Silas asleep and Paul setting up for his big gig,  it’s just you and me baby.  And since you are not even really real.  Then, well, it’s just me.

So, again, today, this is the kind-of afternoon I’m having.    Except that today is sunny, I was in my pajamas until 2:30 not 1:15, and Paul is working instead of preparing for a gig.  There is an obvious pattern here.  Of depression.  On the weekends of all things.

Today, I woke up late (blamed my medicine), missed church (blamed Silas’s low-grade fever), waited for Silas to take his nap so that I could get some work done (because our house is trashed and I’m behind at work), found it challenging to get anything done because I abhor the state of our house (Amityville), moped about (of course), talked on the phone with little to no enthusiasm (most likely spreading my ugly state of mind), and then finally decided to forget the house and the work and to lie on my bed an read (Ahhhhh….).

And, voila, a little bit of happiness ensued.

Why couldn’t I just have read on my bed in the first place?  It’s as if I have to have an excuse to do something pleasurable.  Like I just can’t allow myself to be happy.

(more…)

This blog is a smart, witty, and creatively honest literary work that depicts the triumphs and troubles that playout over time in a mother’s struggle to keep life in balance.. You must read! (it’s not just for ladies either)

– Posted on Facebook by my good friend Anne D.

This monumental pile of dishes are clean. 

So, Paul just told me that Limp Bizzzzzzzzkit or some shit covered the song that graces the title of this blog.  To the world,  I’m sorry.

Still, here I am again.  In all my glory.  I had a crazy surge of energy the other night (hence the 3AM post) and, following Nina’s lead, got myself added to the Asheville Blogroll.  http://www.blogasheville.blogspot.com/

And, created a Facebook Page for this site.  (Join it, yeah!) 

And, finally got some GD photos posted on this here blog.    (You might laugh at me, but there is something either wrong with my web hosting or wrong with my computer or wrong with me.  Or, all of the above.  But, it was a nasty, multi-hour, uploading to Shutterfly, and then making a copy, and then uploading again, kind-of bizarre experience.  In short, it really sucked.)

However, as you can tell from the quote above, it paid off.

So, I thought I could start posting cute little pictures of Silas on my blog.  But, and I don’t know why, I don’t think that’s my style.  (However, it might be tomorrow.)  Instead, I uploaded more kitchen.  Paul has a new thing against our ancient dishwasher, so we often have this large pile of dishes (clean or dirty) piled up around our sink.    It’s not pretty.  But, then again, it’s our life.  And, since my title is faith-uh-faith-uh-faith-uh, it makes sense.  To me.  (Read on.)

(more…)

I’m sitting in my sister’s Florida kitchen anxiously awaiting her annual birthday bash.  This is actually the first time that I’ve been able to come.  The fact that Dad paid for my traveling expenses helped make this dream of dreams come true.

Right now Stephie (that’s my sister) is blowing into a wooden turtle’s butt (it’s some kind of weird flute) while I do an interpretive dance about whipping up potato salad.  Hey, we’re an eccentric family.

Anyhow, I won’t mention the “A” word in hopes that the advertisements on this page change their ugly tune but tonight is promising to be a mega-blast.  I’ve already been invited to do a keg stand.  Thank goodness Mom and Dad will be nearby to babysit!

(By the way, I have NO intention of actually doing a keg stand.  I did one once when I was like 20 years old and it was absolutely disgusting.)

Anyhow, I’m really excited.  I’m back in Gainesville and am looking forward to seeing old friends.  Plus, my sister is just plain awesome.  She’s my baby sister so it always surprises me when she does really hip things like bring a dog back from the dead by massaging its heart with her hands!  Yeah, she works in the ICU of UF’s vet hospital and she is a real superwoman.

My entire family is pretty damn hip.  Of course, there’s me.  Duh. Then there are my parents.  My dad plays a wicked guitar and simultaneous harmonica.  My mom is also into interpretive dancing and together they can finish a mean pub crawl still standing.  My sister, Sue, has dreads down to her butt cheeks and works as a bartender and a counselor for WIC.  Not sure if the two go hand in hand, but she seems to make it work.  My brother-in-law and his brother (or my brother-in-law-in-law???) are both home brewers and connoisseurs of fine ales the world around.  And, my husband has taken to Sailor Jerry.

So, yeah, we’re a bunch of wild “a”-holics.  But, we keep it in check.  Most of the time.

We’re planning to keep it check this evening.  That is if we can keep it real on the beer pong table…

I’ll check in again as Stephapalooza gets underway. 

(PS- I feel all highbrow considering I’ll be hip to hip with a bunch of doctors this evening.  Wish me luck.)

I’ve heard that photographs don’t lie.  That mirrors tell the truth.   Or even, that you can’t rely on husbands because they’ll say whatever works.

I can’t really argue with any of that.

I can, however, argue with the new advertisements on this here blog.

(more…)

You may have noticed my absence.  I was posting almost everyday and then Bam! silence.  I wish I could say that I was doing something extremely important with my time.  Writing a novella.  Learning to tap dance.  Potty training my two year old.  (Okay, it feels like we’re a long way from potty training and he’s not yet two but it sounds like a noble pursuit.)

No.  I’ve been up to none of those things.

Instead, and I didn’t think it could ever happen to me, I’ve been watching crap TV and playing word games on the computer.

I kid you not.

Maybe it’s because it’s the end of my vacation time.  Maybe I’m depressed.  Or maybe the great modern American past time fairy picked my number this week and whispered sweet mind numbing suggestions in my ear.

Whatever it is, the world of mindless dribble drabble finally opened up to me.  And, honestly, I feel a little dirty.

That’s not to say that I haven’t done other things.  I’ve sat around a table with some friends drinking beer and playing UNO while Silas tried to drink soda from old cans in the recycling bin.  Oh, and I’ve laid around my bedroom keeping my eyes closed and my ears open as Silas tore all the laundry from our closet and banged plastic coat hangers against the wall. (I finally lifted myself from the bed when he started screaming for milk and a diaper.)

I’m painting a rather pretty picture of myself aren’t I?

A real mother-of-the-year sort-of portrait, eh?

So, what is going on?  Honestly, I don’t know.  I think, like so many other Americans, I just wanted some down time.  Some time in which I didn’t have to think a lot or do a lot or be a lot.  I needed a little reprieve from the pressure.

And, aside from feeling a little dirty, I feel okay about it.  I mean, it happens.  Doesn’t it?

In fact, and I will write about this later (it has been suggested to me that I write a week’s full of posts to make up for the silent week), I’ve had so much time to get engrossed in cake baking cook-offs and live action Boggle because we’ve made a little breakthrough around here.  Silas has been– dum, dum, dum– going to bed every night at 8:30!  In his own bed!  Without crying!  

So, yes, time I could’ve spent writing, I spent decompressing with mind numbing goodies instead.  Maybe I just needed that.  (Especially after the first– and only– “sleep retraining” night in which Silas screamed his bloody head off.)

But, I am here.  Albeit by peer pressure.   (I have such wonderful friends and readers that urge me along.) Still, I am here.  And getting here was half the battle.

However, since my brain is mush tonight, I will resume posting tomorrow.  I have a hiking date first thing in the morning and I am hoping this will rev my brain up for some real blogging action.

Until then, may the ability to power down the TV and computer be with me and also with you.

Amen.

I actually did it.  Rubbed two pennies together.  It felt a little odd, but also comforting.  With every little metallic jingle, I thought to myself “at least I have two pennies to rub together!”

But, that’s about all we have.

My husband owns a tile installation business that has taken quite a hit since Christmas.  Unfortunately, he hasn’t owned the company long enough to build a bird’s nest, or an egg’s nest, or a nest egg or whatever it’s called.

So, now we are broke.  Seriously broke.  And a little in debt.  Or, honestly, a lot in debt.

But, we do have two pennies.  And, I rubbed them together.

(more…)

Ahhhhhhhhh!

I am bogged down with anxiety again this afternoon.  I won’t go into the gory details.   Actually, there are no gory details.  Just a fog of swirling thoughts, a few panicky fears, and a stomach ache.

Still, I wanted to preface that I wouldn’t go into the gory details so that you would read on.  It has been suggested to me that I have, in recent times, crossed the line of decency, plunged into a vacuum of “too much information”, opened myself up for ridicule and disrespect.  Possibly, I’m going too far yet again.  But, I should perhaps take a vow of silence on all things diarrhea and on commenting that my belly is like a jelly fish.

There, you’re safe now.  I can go on.

(more…)

Aside from making a requested second jab at VP pick Palin, I am compelled to clarify that my mention of “jogging” in the previous was post was actually a metaphor for sitting on my butt and eating chocolate bars slathered in peanut butter and then chugging whole milk (purchased for Silas, yeah right) out of the carton.

I meant “jogging” in the broadest sense of the word.

Good night.