Shake It Up, Baby

Disclaimer!! If you are my child, parent or sister... STOP READING NOW!

I have this friend, we shall call her Lola, and she has an amazing toy. No. Really.
It's a little bigger than the palm of your hand and it has elastic straps to firmly secure it all the way up your wrist. As sex toys go, this was very interesting to me. It's flat, but rounded and soft, like a big plastic pebble. It is battery operated and well...mesmerizing.

The problem is, it's a little too powerful. After thoroughly disinfecting it, I admit to trying it on for size. Not to use it, just to, you know, check it out. Lola helped strap it on (Oh, my. That sounds way worse than it was.) my hand and stepped away with a little smile on her face. Mind you, we were standing (fully clothed!) in her living room, with the windows open and the music blaring...Just two girls with nothing better to do.

So, there I am, looking at her smirk, puzzled but unafraid, while I hit the power button and WHAM! POWER is the key word here. That thing threw my arm straight into the air like it had been shot from a cannon. My arm was flailing around, nearly knocking dear Lola in her laughing head, which in retrospect would have served her right. I had no control, I tell you! I turned in wide, wild circles trying to get my free hand in a position to hit the off switch. My whole body was vibrating. The more I turned, the dizzier I became. My teeth were clicking and I couldn't feel my face. I was literally bouncing off the walls like a pinball, fearing for my life! A little help would've been nice, but no! By this time, Lola was in a fetal position on the floor, laughing uncontrollably and thoroughly incapable of offering her assistance. I realize now, she wouldn't have helped me even if she had been able to control her hysteria. That was a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle if ever there was one.

Which naturally, Dear Reader, got me thinking...later...after soaking my wrenched shoulder in a hot bath for an hour. What in the world happens when you use that god-forsaken thing in the place for which it was intended?? I immediately conjured up a mental picture of it bouncing you (me? no.) so hard the bed starts to shake like a porno version of The Exorcist. Bouncing you so hard you're off the bed and down the hallway in no time flat. This is no carnival ride I have ever imagined. A whole new rodeo, because with this thing, seven seconds could put you in a body cast. For life.

Needless to say, this death-trap no longer entices me. I have come to the conclusion I am old-fashioned and completely capable of maneuvering my way down my own hallway without the aid of a body-numbing contraption.

Oh, and by the way... I now understand why Lola walks like a cowboy.

New Year's Promise

Master Rufus and I have come up with a plan. We will not, under any circumstances ring in the new year with wenches,drunkenness, catnip and general debauchery. We will conduct ourselves with dignity, quietly and with great reserve.

Actually, we don't have anywhere to go, so this is a plan we can both dig our nails into.

Some people would be saddened not to have anyplace to go, so let me be clear. I was invited to a party but I am just not feelin' it. You know? I want to be home. Really!

Followed by my last post, some of you are worried, I can feel it. Don't be. I'm good.

A few of my neighbors had fireworks last night and we watched out the kitchen window. At one point, Rufus looked at me as if to say, "Why is this interesting again?" and bounded away to return to his ball with the bell in it.

I turned my attention to his little dishes and decided he needed new ones. These are perfectly functional, but where's the whimsy? Where's the imagination? And this food of his is so bland. Surely they make a healthy assortment of tastier fare? I determine to investigate forthwith.

Rufus sidled past, allowing his tail to brush my leg, a clear sign he is in want of a treat. We played for a few minutes, me rolling his ball away from him while he watches it go. Me holding his treat over his head and him waiting patiently for me to realize he is not, afterall, a dog...

Wait a minute. Wait just one minute here! Is it possible? Am I... I AM! I have become
THE CAT LADY! I am mumbling to an unresponsive feline, making plans to spend actual money on things he could not possibly care about and using words like an old English school marm! FORTHWITH? Who says that?

That's it. I'm outta here. Gonna put on the Ritz...no. Scratch that. Gonna work-it with some tight denim and high heels and slam that party like it's 1999.

Rufus, my man. Enjoy your ball.

Holy Crap!

Oh, no. Oh, boy. Holy Crap! What in the world have I done?? I am in Mississippi. I am ALONE.

I wake up to that every day now. By the time my mind gets in gear and is able to soothe itself off the ledge with comforting thoughts like "What an adventure!" and "How fun is this?" I am in the shower doing the "It wasn't stupid, it was brave!" and "You are on the verge of something amazing!" routine that gets me thru lunch.

My job is pretty cool, actually. And the people I work with are very friendly and helpful. Welcoming even. The kids I mentor are an interesting bunch who keep me focused and determined to make a difference. It's hard to be too self-involved when dealing with their issues.

I come home to Rufus, the world's most amazing cat. He allows me to hold him and hug him. Not being a cat-person and his absolute indifference to people in general, we have managed to create a bond, a mutuality of interest and dependence that suits us very well. We like each other. It saddens both of us that we need each other, but it is what it is.

I spend as little time as possible wishing I could take all my decisions in the last few years and bundle them long enough to set fire to them. Try very hard not to waste time imagining the "what-ifs". Truth is, I would do almost everything differently, but then I realize it wouldn't matter in the end, anyway. I have...what? Grown? I don't know. Changed. Yes, I have changed so much I barely recognize myself. Sometimes I literally stop to analyze how I really feel on a subject. And that has been an odd feeling, not being at home in your own mind. It's almost as if I have dragged my body away from any comfort there is in friendships and family so that my soul can figure itself out in peace. And this poor soul is tired, embarrassed, laid low by it's own inability to figure things out.

I had grown to hate so many things. I hated that I hurt people, that I worried them and made them sad. I hated that I have been so wrong about so many things and that being wrong made me feel weak, ridiculous, laughable. I hated that with all my efforts to better my life, I managed to create the thing I wanted least in the world; that solitary life, nearly devoid of intimate interaction, passion and direction.

But you know what? I am stronger than I thought. It was brave, dang it, to step out of my comfort zone and go for what I thought would make me happy. And even though this sounds like I am miserable(I just reread this and it really does!), I am actually defiant again. At least I feel that defiance rising. I don't need people to complete me. I need me. Becky. The real Becky. I like me! The wrinkles, the thinning hair, the snoring! (I SNORE, everyone!!!) I am at peace with my faults and rather proud of my resilience. Everything I've experienced was important, vital to bringing true happiness into reality.

I think I am finally ready, now. I'm gonna LIVE!

Mother's Day

So I decided to pay homage to the momster and gather up a few particularly sweet situations where she showed her loving, compassionate motherliness. (It's a word!) You know. Those caring attributes all mothers exhibit. Here's what I came up with:

- SHARING She recently demanded we go to McDonalds. After watching me painstakingly select 10 perfect french fries from my little white bag, she casually reached over and dumped half of her box on top of them and said, "You shouldn't have gotten me this many. I never eat them all."

- CLARITY Yesterday she called me from the other end of the house, one of my all-time favorite things in the world, and said, "I thought you'd like to make me some lunch. I think I'll have a sandwich. A ham sandwich. With cheese. Grilled. With Mayo. Browned, but not burned." This request took about five minutes because every time I thought she was done I would start to walk away and she would add something else. Finally I said, "Is that all?" And she said, "Wait. Maybe I'd rather have soup."

- HELPFULNESS She just overheard me on the phone with the bank. I was saying that I hadn't received my statement and seemed to be locked out of my on-line account. She said, "You got your statement." I asked the bank employee to hold for a moment and asked, "Where is it?"
Mom said, "What?"
I (patiently, I swear)asked, ""The bank statement?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Mom, you just said I got it, so where did you put it?"
"I can't be held responsible for your things, Becky. It's just not right for you to ask me to do that."
I returned to the phone and said, "You know what, maybe I did get a statement afterall. I will look for that. But can you help me with the online account?"
Mom says, "Your password changed."
Eyeing this creature who looks remarkably human, I say, "I'm sorry, could I call you back?" I hang up and watch her for some sign of cognitive involvement. Nada. I say, "My password? Changed?"
"Someone called."
"About my password? Really? Where was I?"
"I can't be responsible for where you are every second of every day, Becky. It's..."
"...just not fair, I know. But the password changed? To what?"
"Scotty."
"The password is Scotty?"
"Maybe it was Marriage."
I stare at her.
"Or April. You were married in April, right?"
"August."
"Well maybe it is August, then."


Are you feelin' me, people? This woman literally rocks my world. On a nearly hour-by-hour basis. Oh Happy Day. Every Day. God love her. If we make it to next Mother's Day I intend to offer up some annoying things she's done...

Wassup?

OH, Alright!

Hello, my faithful few. I am writing you from purgatory (better known as Florida) and have a message to send out...HELLLLPPP!

Have you ever had a relative or friend who took a miserable amount of your time and effort for granted? Someone who, no matter how generous and supportive, still needed more? A miserable creature who ran from one ridiculous situation to the next with no apparent regard for how he/she would recover or even survive?

Did you find yourself continually helping, forever forgiving, consistently cooperating with the demands of this selfish, immature ingrate? I sincerely hope so.

I have come to the conclusion that helping others, especially those egregious leeches, is really more about you than it is about them. Helping, giving, supporting is an exercise in spiritual warfare, and continuing to "put out", as it were, is actually winning! It's not a game these people are throwing at us...it is war!

Think back to the time you have dodged the call, ignored the email, changed the subject before a loan request could be uttered. How'd that make you feel? Kinda bad, I'm thinkin'. Ever wonder why that is? I mean, for goodness sake, enough is enough, already. There's only so much you can ask of a person. There has to be a time when walking away is the right thing to do. Right? Wrong.

For the most part, if someone is asking you for something, it is something you can afford to give. Sure, it might tax your time/patience/wallet, but more times than not, you can find a way to do it with a modicum of effort on your part. Am I right?
Of course I am.

There are people in all our lives who cry wolf. Some of them need a good spankin'. Some could use a swift kick in the nether regions. Others would benefit from a therapist and some strong medication. But all of them need us.

It is so great to be needed. So precious to offer help. Such an unprecedented privilege to give. Because that means we have, we belong, we matter.

Soon we will all be the ones asking. Won't it be great to know when it was our turn to listen, we did everything we could to make things good. To make them right. To make them better than we had to. Because this is war, people. And winning isn't everything...it's how we won that will be remembered. And who we saved.

I Promise NOT To

Recently, as my ample proportions have become less generous, I have noticed an alarming new addiction to change. I am trying new foods(gasp), listening to new artists, reading new authors... you get the picture. It feels kinda liberating, if you must know.


Naturally, my mother isn't always thrilled. Especially, it seems, about my new wardrobe (size 16! YAY me!). And so, I have decided to make a few declarations about what I will and won't do in the coming days in Slim-town:

I Solemnly Swear To:

- Always wear a bra
And this hurts me because I think I would look so hip in one of those halter thingys. But let's face it, the bottoms of my boobs would get rug burn and there is absolutely nothing hip about that.
- Avoid Spandex
Again, this is something I have kinda looked forward to since this is the skinny girls version of elastic waisted pants. But when there is no delineation between your thighs and your calves save for the amount of dimpling, you are setting yourself up for some ridicule. I know this because I am the one usually doing the nasty face/gag me gestures in the WalMart parking lot.
- Keep the hemline age appropriate
As many of you know, I can get myself into alot of trouble wearing a skirt and there is no sense in adding the possibility of a "Brittany" to the list of nasty foibles. Of course, I never go commando...Huh...
- Keep the neckline modest
You know, with boobs like mine, there is little reason to show skin. They are the first thing people see (since they usually enter a room way before the rest of me shows up) and the first thing they see in their mind's eye when they are called upon to remember me. So, with that in mind, this one is easy to promise.
- Never wear a thong
OK, here's the thing. Even at my current enviable weight (not really. I just wanted to write that.) it would still require two men and a boy to get me out of one. (One, Two, Three PULL!)
- Always say Thank You
I have had very few instances of people coming up to me to tell me how ravishing I look (though that day is coming, by golly) but when it starts, I promise to never take it for granted, to always smile and in my most sincere and gracious tone, receive the praise.


Until then, never fear! Mother is here to remind me to change my shorty-shorts, throw away my sleeve-less hoochy shirt and consider donating my thigh high boots to the Bad Boy Clubs auxiliary, The "Love You Long Time" Girls. You can count on her to keep me in line.

I could be wrong (what?) but I think I need a break. After shuttling and shopping, loading and unloading, cooking and cleaning...and let's not forget listening without retort...I am a bit bushed.

Mother says I do too much. Of course, that's after she asks me to "run the sweeper", "fetch the laundry" and "do up those dishes". I really don't mind the grind. They are appreciative and are always trying to stuff money in my pockets. I love the idea of taking pressure off them and am happy to be able to do it.

It's just that it constantly reminds me how quickly I will be in their shoes. I am always wondering if I am living the fullest, best life...if I will get to the end and regret the decisions I made (or didn't make)along the way.

Of course, up to now I have been on auto-pilot for the most part. Went to college, got married, had 3 (perfect) children...I've done what was expected of me, if little else. It's been a good life, one many women would enjoy very much.

This is the itch, isn't it? That dreaded mid-life crisis thing that begins after the empty nest syndrome, where you start dreaming of what could've been and begin convincing yourself you could do better, be happier, live more.

I asked my Dad if he ever experienced it and he smiled and said he thought about leaving my mother, could've left her, but he made a promise to her to always be there to protect her and though imperfect, he was a man of his word.

A few days later I asked my mother the same question. She has regaled us with stories over the years of all the men who courted her who turned out to be successful, wealthy men, and I am sure she was thinking about them while she paused to answer. Finally, she said, "Well, early on if I had left I wouldn't have you. Later, we had the ministry...and really, God is what held our marriage together. Who knows where we would be now without that."

Where, indeed.

I think when a person suffers a mid-life crisis, they've begun to ask, "Is this all there is?" They have started to wonder if they will ever feel a powerful, over-whelming sensation or emotion ever again. They are sensing the possibility, the very real possibility that the end of their days will be spent coasting out, living on the periphery of other people's lives. Going through the motions, but really just making themselves as comfortable as possible while they wait to die. One year fading into the next with nothing to distinguish one from the other at the end.

Not to depress you or anything, dear Reader, but I bring this to your attention in the hopes that I can encourage you to either closely examine your habits, your beliefs, your priorities and realign them with "Maximum Living" in mind or stay away from old folks. For real. Because their rickety bones and gnarled fingers are gonna get you thinkin'...

I, for one, require some realignment...possibly an entire overhaul. It will be expensive in emotion and addled with adversity, but the people who love me now will love me in the end, right? And if you get to the end and can at least say you gave it your best shot, that will be enough, yes?

Well, that's what I think, anyway. But we all know I'm a bit of a goofball, so it could be that I am 100% wrong...(What?)