Sex and the City

Okay, I'm addicted to "Sex and the City." I never saw it when it ran on HBO, but I love it on TBS (and don't mind the cleaned up versions. I like sex, but come on, who needs soft porn). The clothes, the drama, the friendship--it's all great. Carrie is my hero right now. She and I are wardrobe twins, separated at birth by a fluke of bank accounts. And fat cells. But still, if you want to know what kind of clothes I'm drawn to, just watch an episode of SATC. You'll see the crazy stuff I'm into.

Back in high school, I came up with some amazing combinations--pajama bottoms with body suits; silk shirts with wool shorts *and* leggings; men's hats and boys' blazers. And it usually worked, in my own whacky way. Then I went to college and got more conservative, although not too much more conservative, when I really think about some of the quasi-pirate outfits I pulled off my sophomore year. And then the year before last, when I made the Victorian-style skirt (with petticoat). But my inner fashionista is still champing at the bit. I need ... Gaultier. Fendi. Vintage. Or at least more hats!

Kissing Woolie Bears

Fi is so cute. The last couple of days, we've had great luck finding cool bugs on our walks. And what's really cute is that she wants to kiss them all. You have never seen anything more adorable than a toddler smooching a woolie bear caterpillar.

No, don't worry--I didn't let her lips actually touch it. I think they're poisonous or something.

When Night equals Day

Last night was incredible. Fiona and I went out for a walk around the neighborhood just as the sun was setting. The moon was already up, a perfect half-circle in the sky, and in the west, a peachy stain colored the odd wisp of cloud.

It felt so amazing to stand in the cemetery and watch the sun give way its hold on the world. It hung an extra wistful moment at the brink of the hills, then, in the moment I turned my head to watch Fi scrabble up an uneven step, plunged behind the trees. The moon was suddenly much brighter. All around, the world held its magical breath. And the seasons turned.

Tonight we stepped out for our stroll, the same sunset moment as the day before. But this evening's magic was a different shade of magic. The Crone stood unabashed in the sky, moon-face broader than the night before. Her cold wisdom was evident in the crushed leaves beneath my sandals, and the cruelty of our cat's snatch at a fat, grey mouse. The little animal shrieked with pain and fear as Omega danced around it; then, as we drew near, he snapped the creature up, not trusting us too near his treasure.

My heart shook inside me, aching to save the poor little mouse. But logic stilled my hand. Once bitten by a cat, there isn't much hope for an animal--there's just too much damage. But I felt winter-worn as we picked our way home. I can respect the Crone and her ways, but I do not love her.

A very cool boy

If you want a little inside glimpse of my life, check out my brother's webpage. He's such a groovy dude!

Safe harbor

Erin and I hooked up on Saturday, and when she wrote it up in her blog, it was amazingly touching. It hit a chord in me--that "she understands!" chord. The reasons she came home: they're mine. We came home to find safe harbor.

After years on my own (I started college at 16, and except for a handful of holidays, pretty much stayed out in the world), I felt so worn down. There were the overcomeable difficulties, like troubles with jobs and cramped, dingy apartments, and then there were the deeper scars, like the crippling loss of confidence after quitting music. It was starting to get harder and harder to get over the little slings and arrows of my fate (you know, dumb stuff like losing my boyfriend of 4 years); I was just too emotionally exhausted. And I guess I knew deep down there was no way someone as soggy and miserable as me could possibly do any justice to the sweet baby I was given. So I fled.

It's the best decision I've ever made. Sure, I don't have any money, and I feel like a mooch. But I'm whole again. Happy and confident the way I haven't been since I was in high school. And I've broken away from all the crap I've absorbed out there in the world. I'm writing; I'm living; I'm smiling.

happy reunions

Wow! I just had lunch with one of my oldest friends for the first time in years. It felt good. It wasn't like we were exactly the same people, but we had kept the same old connection. Sometimes when you get together with long-lost pals, you feel horribly uncomfortable. Not this time! Erin and I had a pretty good time.

I hope she feels the same way!

Really bad stuff

So I know it's wrong, but somewhere between July and Now, I've just become incredibly disillusioned with this year's election. Oh sure, I'm still going to vote--I'm not suicidal, after all, and I want to do something to get rid of Bush. But I just don't feel like there's much of a point in getting worked up about politics right now. When the choice is Turkey Ham or Turkey Salami, you just get sad thinking about all the turkey farms out in the world.

Mean Reds

I watched "Breakfast at Tiffany's" a couple nights ago, the first time since I'd read the story, and felt a big surge of disapointment over the ending. I knw it's Hollywood, but the happy ending was so unbelievable. How could Holly Golightly ever settle down with any man? She's not even alive.

The mean reds--what a beautiful term, so eloquent, so evocative--ate Holly alive. She was an empty shell, just clinging to the world for her one last connection: her brother, Fred. With his death, she was cut loose. No man could bring her back from that abyss.

Sorry. This was a bad aside, poorly written, tres lame. But I've been thinking about the mean reds a lot lately. Sometimes they pick me up and swallow me whole. I worry I'll never be able to be a good mom because of them. They unhinge me, untie me from my mind. I hate to see myself swimming in a mean red sea.

But there's no Tiffany's on Oregon coast.

ewww

Just a humorous note. We have a standard desk chair in front of our computer, and the seat is stuffed with foam rubber. If you fart in this chair, is soaks up the smelly gases, releasing them in a revolting explosion when the chair's next user plunks down on the seat. I am frequently the target of this nasty prank.

My brother is an evil gas bag! My brother is an evil gas bag. My brother is an evil gas bag! My brother is an evil gas bag. My brother is an evil gas bag! My brother is an evil gas bag. My brother is an evil gas bag!

Not a lot

I can't think of much to write about--there's sort of an empty spot in my brain today. I guess it's because we went shopping, so I'm totally off schedule and a little bit drained. Isn't it funny how shopping will do that to you?

What was I shopping for, you ask? Why, shoes, of course. Something to go with the Pleasant Peasant dress I'm wearing for the Pennsylvania Wedding. It actually came the other day, and I had to send it back--much too big. Horrendously, nastily too big. I hope the small size gets here in time!

We found no good shoes (big surprise). I wanted a pair of little China-doll flats, which are easy to find in Portland, but a rare commodity on the coast. I thought maybe some whacky embroidered slippers would do the job, but they didn't even have any at the import store. Fred Meyer didn't even have any of those Isotoner ballet-style slippers. A complete strike out.

So I wasted a whole day on nothing. Well, not entirely nothing. I got a new sweater (orange!), a shiny skirt, and two black shirts. That has to count a little.

I suppose I should try writing, but I might just slob around and read a little. My brain just isn't up to my imaginary world right now.

The Dress

I have vowed not to get too fat for the bridesmaid dress. Operation Diet is in order. It already is bad!

Damn reading, anyway

So last night I was reading a book called "Consuming Kids: The Hostile Takeover of Childhood," by some lady. It was a very insightful examination of marketing for children, and I honestly thought I was having a heart attack as I read it. My chest knotted; breathing was a struggle. My stomach twisted and heaved. Reading her words, I just couldn't see any hope for my child. How could I, a single mother with few resources, hope to shield her from a society bent on turning her into a mindless, heartless drone? A monster?

I thought about throwing all her toys away--at least all the silly ones that talked or sang or squawked. I thought about blowing up our tv. I certainly regretted buying her the "Sesame Street" overalls I'd picked up at the consignment store that afternoon. What was I doing to my baby, teaching her to love Elmo and Big Bird and all those other fuzzy puppets? Sixteen months old, and I have already failed her.

Maybe it's silly to fall into despair, but I honestly can't see any hope for a good life when society works so hard to undo everything good for human beings. The government serves the corporations and the corporations want nothing more than for us to buy, buy, buy--with no concern for our hearts or minds or expanding waist lines.

Damn reading, anyway. If I hadn't read that book, I wouldn't be cursing myself or predicting a new dark age. I'd have my head back in the sand, as I prefer.