Dry-uary

 

This is the 4th day of Dry-uary for Mister and me. We’ve been doing this for a few years now and it’s okie dokie. We don’t drink (or do anything else, ahem) the entire month and in the end, our livers thank us. For the most part, we stick with it. There have been a few times when an emergency shot of bourbon was necessary – for medicinal purposes of course – but that’s about it. It sounds boring, I know, but I really do feel better after January. And then I’m a freaking light-weight! Bonus!

 

Enjoy This Lifepg

 

I saw this sidewalk graffiti yesterday while out walking. I tend to the optimistic side of things, but always appreciate when the world reminds me where my bread is buttered.

 

I also had my first Elvis sighting of the year yesterday. Now I see Elvis quite often at the grocery store. (We shop the same aisles, don’t you know.) But this was an entirely different part of town and an entirely different Elvis. The King’s birthday is next week, so I’ll keep an eye out for him around town. You never know.

 

Aside from that, I salute this day. I want to celebrate it, to honor it, to enjoy it. Today is my life. And it is good.

Bubye 2018

 

Bubye 2018

 

Most people I know are ready to toss 2018 into the wood chipper. Here in the States, among people with a modicum of integrity, the past year is viewed for the poo-show it was. Good riddance.

 

But there were glimmers of vitality and joy. Just the other night I danced my ass off and that was definitely a highlight. Not only that, but when I sat and watched other party-goers tear up the dance floor, I felt a joy bubble burst in my brain hole and just about smiled myself to death.

 

Rodin at the Norton Simon Museum

 

I saw amazing art, locally…

 

4th Day_Hyde Park_Christo and a Queens Swan

 

and abroad.

 

Sunset in December

 

The Los Angeles sunsets brought ridiculous awe and wonder to my front door. Thank you smog!

 

Bentley My Lover Dog

 

I got to visit with a dog I adore. Only this time he decided to show his love for me by going to town on my leg. As this is very uncommon for this well-behaved soul, I think his affection may be due to a past-life experience. Maybe Bentley and I were lovers in another time. I do hail from white trash, so maybe there’s some dog in my lineage. Whatever the reason, it was unexpected and not cool, dog.

 

Desert Respite

 

Mister and I had a desert respite. It was fun and restful and beautiful and we got to see dear friends. Win-win, y’all.

 

Blindfold Puzzle

 

While in the desert, I witnessed my friend SJ assemble a puzzle while blindfolded. Yep. She discerned which side of each piece was up while blindfolded. She separated side and interior pieces while blindfolded. Then she put the mutha together and it didn’t take very long. I love this gal for a lot of reasons. And now I love her even more.

 

Beer Advent Finished

 

Mister and I finished our Beer Advent Calendar, and we had a blast doing it. All those German beers were a treat. And the cans look so amazing on the mantel. As we don’t live in a frat house, they’ll be coming down today, however. That’s alright. We enjoyed them while they lasted.

 

I got through the first draft of part two of the book I’m writing, and as my goal was to get it out of my head before the year’s end, I’m feeling pretty good about that. Miles to go, of course, but still. Sometimes baby steps are incredibly fulfilling.

 

Mikki and Lorinda 2003

 

I also reconnected with someone I love more than butter. If you know a soul who seems to be part of the fiber of your being, then you can appreciate how I feel about this chick. She’s woven into me. It’s as simple and as complicated as that. Gratitude abounds.

 

2018 was a janky year, I won’t deny. But there were moments that stood out, moments that made a difference. And I want to do all I can to make even more stand-out moments come to life this year. It won’t be easy, y’all. My country is still being slowly destroyed by the worst president in history. Jackasses around the globe are discriminating against human souls in more ways than I can comprehend. Our environment seems to be dying. And don’t get me started on gender issues. Honestly – it’s enough to break a person. I know a few folks who have fallen so deeply into depression that they may not make it back. I’m not kidding. That’s heartbreaking.

 

But! I’m not ready to give up. In fact, I’m just getting started. You want a piece of me, 2019? Bring it on. I’m your worst nightmare – a Club 50, optimistic, brave, excited creator. And I’m about to make this year my bitch. Here we go…

 

Happy New Year!

 

Hold For Annette Is In Full Swig. I Mean Swing.

 

Hold for Annette

 

Remember this photo? I wrote about it here. And then I decided Annette – God love her – was on to something and decided to help her out. This was my first effort…

 

Hold for Annette 2

 

Then I got all jazzed about the holidays and helped her some more…

 

Hold for Annette 3

 

For the record, I chose to hold this particular item for Annette because when I first looked at the box, I thought it read “Don’t Let Them Poop,” which led to an in-aisle guffaw. Then I looked again and read it correctly. My way would definitely be better. Hope Annette likes it.

I Wish You a Merry Christmas (Yes, You)

 

Yes You

 

Not sure what your day looks like, but I do hope it’s joyful. Maybe you’ll have yourself some laughs. Maybe some good times. Maybe some peace.

 

No matter where you are, I hope this day of yours is worth living. I hope mine is, too.

Santa is My Bae

 

Santa is My Bae

 

There are only a few shopping days remaining before the Big Show, so if you’re hard-pressed for gifts, fear not! I spotted this lovely item at the damned grocery store. Yes – the place I get food. I do not know what the world is coming to, people.

 

And for the record, I did not buy this sweater. I already regret my choice. ‘Cause Santa really is my bae.

Party Favors

 

I was at a holiday party and first, I have to tell you how much I love being invited to this chick’s home. It’s a textured, visual masterpiece. Art abounds. Play prevails. Sensuality surrounds. I love her home. It is a beautiful manifestation of the woman herself.

 

Anyhoo – upon leaving, guests encountered this box…

 

Holiday Party Favor

 

I took one of the wrapped pieces and headed out to catch a ride home. When I got there, I opened the package to find this…

 

Holiday Party Favor 2

 

My friend is pretty cool. And yes – I have placed this in my car. Right on and Happy Christmas.

With Bells On

 

With Bells On

 

The season continues, as do I. To boost my own spirits, I’ve attached some bells to my old (old) army boots. The jingle-jangle of each step brings joy to my soul.

 

There’s no tree at our house this year. About the only things signifying the holidays are the cards on the mantel. Those and the array of colorful cans from the Beer Advent Calendar. Just last night I pointed out to Mister how the mantel area has become quite the mix of sophistication, quirk and frat house. Some things just leave a gal shaking her head.

 

Anyhoo – if you see me out in the world over the next couple of weeks, keep an ear open. I may very well have shown up with bells on. I do love to jingle-jangle.

I Made It For Myself

 

Savory Cheesecake

 

This is a savory cheesecake I made for a holiday party. I’m not blogging the recipe. I’m just letting you know that I got up early to make it, took my time and tried to make the final dish not only presentable but also festive.

 

This is the damned social season, whether we like it or not. And that very often means bringing something to our hosts. Some folks specifically ask that we not bring anything. Some request a contribution to the table. Some attendees (such as myself) struggle with walking in empty-handed, no matter what our hosts have requested. For us, if we’re bringing a bottle – easy. If we’re bringing treats for a friend’s beloved pet – no problem. If we’re cooking something, well, that isn’t always convenient. And sometimes it can be stressful AF.

 

So when making the savory cheesecake, I finally learned something that’s escaped me all these years: I made it for myself. That’s it. Yes, I was gifting the dish to the party I was attending. But I didn’t need or expect praise. I wasn’t trying to garner appreciation for the preparation and steps I’d taken. I wanted to make that cheesecake because I wanted to eat that cheesecake! Plain and simple. And y’all – some things are meant for a group. Gi-normous, savory cheesecake is one of those things.

 

During this holiday season, as you go about your harried, hurried way, please don’t knock yourself out to try and impress others. You don’t have to lose sleep and you don’t have to stress. Not over attending a party, for cry-eye. Store-bought is not only acceptable, it can also be fabulous. And if you choose to make something that takes time, blood, sweat and maybe even tears, do it for yourself. View it as art. Create something you appreciate. The joy you glean from your experience will more than satisfy.

 

One last thing… When you do create a delectable dish that makes you happy, it’s easier and more fun to make than if you’d felt pressured and strained in completing it. Because of all your positive energy, it’s also bound to be well-received. That savory cheesecake? Oh yeah. It was devoured.

One Beer in My Pocket

 

One Beer in My Pocket

 

This is what happens when you don’t plan your walk, people. You end up standing before a fancy, new beer fridge, 5 miles from home, and there’s a limited release just calling your name. And even though you’d super-like to pop the top and enjoy it there (where it’s not only allowed, but encouraged), you don’t – because you know you’ve surely got some drinking ahead of you. Not to mention Day 7 of your beer advent calendar. And you’ve still got to get home. Dag.

 

I believe this falls under the heading of first-world problems. I am grateful.

Trapped in a Trailer

 

Note: I’m working on a book and it’s got me road-tripping back and forth across my childhood. One road led to this post.

 

The Forest and The Trees

 

When you’re 12 and locked in the bathroom of a trailer in the woods, a lot of crazy stuff runs through your mind. How did she lock the door from the outside? Why is the window so small? How the hell do I use this tampon?

 

My mother had told me the month before that she was done buying pads (“sanitary napkins,” for the technically inclined) and that I would have to start using tampons for my periods. She said pads were too expensive and she didn’t like them, so I shouldn’t like them either. (Can you say “textbook narcissist”?) When that month’s period rolled around on the calendar, there were no pads to be found. She pushed a box of tampons into my hands, shoved me into the bathroom, somehow secured the door from the outside and yelled, “You’re not coming out until you know how to use those Tampax!” That’s how I found myself in that trailer’s locked bathroom, sobbing.

 

I banged on the door, tears flying, for a full 10 minutes. I begged to be let out. I begged for help. (Seriously – how was I supposed to use a tampon?) I begged and begged until I realized that my mother had probably left the room and wasn’t even listening to me anymore. Sometimes even a 12-year old is led to wonder how in the world her life could have turned out this way.

 

Looking back, I can see how complex and fractured that day was. How afraid that young version of me was feeling, how belittled and disrespected she was. I can also see my mother’s ignorance and shortcomings as a parent. How unprepared she was, how her own fears outweighed the well-being of her daughter. I won’t claim to not judge, because I do – in spades. But the thing I think about most is how I wish I could have helped my young self. How I wish I could ease her through that day and help move her forward, beyond it.

 

So in my mind, I’ve decided to send her some help. And I’ve done it in the only way I know how: I’ve replaced those janky paper instructions in that box of tampons, the instructions with the anatomical renderings that benefit no one except those with medical training. In their stead, I’ve left a handwritten note. It reads:

 

Dear Little Mikki,

 

I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you’re going to be okay. I promise. I’m gonna take you through this, step-by-step, so just follow along.

 

First, make sure you’re sitting on the toilet seat, like you’re ready to use the bathroom, while reading this. Take out a single tampon and tear the paper away. Throw the paper in the toilet. Now look at the tampon. See the end with the string? Notice how that cylinder fits inside the slightly larger cylinder on the other end. Place your index finger over the string-side opening and press. See how the inner cylinder presses the tampon through the outer cylinder? Neat, right? Drop that tampon and the cardboard cylinders into the toilet.

 

Now, with your fingers, reach down between your legs and find where the pee comes out. Once you find that, slide your fingers back just a bit to where your vagina is. That’s right – the “hole.” This is where you’re going to insert the tampon. (Stay with me. You can do this.)

 

Take another tampon from its wrapper (tossing the wrapper into the toilet) and practice pressing the string-side and pushing out the tampon. Do this as many times as you need, until you feel like you’ve got it down. Throw all those practice tampons, their wrappers and their cardboard cylinders into the toilet.

 

Take one last tampon from its wrapper (yep – wrapper into toilet), and place your index finger on the string-side opening. While holding the cardboard cylinder, and keeping your index finger over the string-side opening, place the other end of the tampon into your vagina. You only need to push it in about an inch. Once the cylinder is inside your hole, press the string-side cylinder and push the tampon into your body. If it doesn’t quite work, it’s okay. Just try again.

 

Once it does work and the tampon is inside you, that means you did it! You figured it out! Oh – and that string? That’s how you’ll pull the tampon from your body, once it’s time to replace it. (You will get the hang of this. I promise.) Wash your hands, make sure you’ve thrown all the various tampon wrappers and cardboard cylinders and practice tampons into the toilet, put the lid down and have a seat.

 

Now. I know this has been hard. But there’s still some ugliness to get through. When you leave this room (when you’re allowed to leave, that is), you’re in for a bad surprise. Your mother has invited a former boyfriend over – the one you never wanted to see again. And she’s done it today. Right now. He’s out there, with her, waiting to see you. And it doesn’t matter how puffy and red your eyes are from crying, it doesn’t matter that you’ve been held hostage in the bathroom. None of that matters, because that woman is going to make you go out there, sit down across from that boy, and act like everything’s fine. Little Mikki – everything is not fine. So here’s what I think you should do. Dry your face. Go out there and sit. But you don’t have to talk to that boy any more than you want to. You may have to sit in a room with him, but you don’t have to pretend you want to see him and you don’t have to pretend you’re happy.  You just gut through this visit, and I promise you – you’ll never have to see him again. I swear to beans.

 

You did good today. And you really are gonna be okay. Hang in there. I promise you’re gonna get to grow up and live far away from this trailer and these crazy people and you’ll get to decide the kind of person you want to be. No one else will ever get to decide that for you. Okay?

 

Now, flush that toilet, go out there and sit across from that boy until he gets bored and leaves, then go right outside for a walk in the woods. You do not want to be here when your mother finds that stopped-up toilet.

 

Love,

Big Mikki