Am I Blue?

Not at all. But these cornflowers are beautifully so.

(Photo from the Gardens at 'Tits HQ, taken May 21, 2008)

Lessons from My Drive

Okay, so you know that I've been wearing a groove in the road from here (NW Georgia) to NYC. Well, in all that driving I've burned a lot of cash and a lot of fuel. Neither of those ideas much please me, I can tell you. But aside from that, I want to tell you something that I noticed.

There are a lot of people living close to the edge. Let me explain.

Th apartment in Brooklyn turned out to be a three floor walk up in a working class neighborhood. The reason I'm telling you this is for purposes of numbers. Population. See, for every three floor walk up, it's probably safe to say that there are approximately three people or three families living in what may be, to the middle class eye, defined as rather sparse conditions. (I wouldn't even begin to describe how the upper class or uber-rich person might define such living conditions. Come to think of it, those conditions simply do not exist to the uber-rich. They simply can't see it.)

On my drive, I passed plenty of small old houses, manufactured housing, starter homes, apartment buildings, and rundown abodes. There were plenty of once beautiful, sprawling farms in Pennsylvania dotting Interstate 81. At one time, those farms were tidy, painted and proud. Now many of them have fallen into disrepair and neglect.

Everywhere I looked as I drove through the Shenandoah Valley, I could see farms and old homes. I was struck by the size of some of the farm houses that likely housed large families at one time. Now they are dwarfed by the size of a typical McMansion in a gated community. And these new palaces likely house families no larger than four people.

As I surveyed this slice of the American landscape, I was struck by the notion that there are more of us living close to the edge than there are those who are comfortably in the middle or sitting on top.

As gas prices rise and all the associated costs go with them, I can't help but wonder how this economy is going to sustain itself. The price of petroleum touches so much, how can we not reach the breaking point sooner rather than later? How will people who are already on the edge keep from going over?

I know that we're in that often-discussed category of being one paycheck away from disaster. Now that I'm unemployed, we're spurred on to cut costs, but we'll also be making some choices between what gets paid and what doesn't. The two essentials - fuel and food - can be cut back some, but not completely. Those ever-expanding bills shrink what we can pay toward our mortgage, healthcare, and other expenses.

In the meantime, every time The Dancer tells me that she needs gas in her car (calm down, it's a 95 Celica that was a gift from her aunt), I cringe. That edge moves ever closer. Even if I do find work, the edge is going to continue to inch toward us as daily living costs go higher and higher. We are not alone in this. I'm afraid we'll have plenty of company in that economic tumble down. The old adage "safety in numbers" will have a bitter ring to it when counting the number of people at the bottom.

The Good, The Dead, The Blogroll

Please give a great big PoliTits welcome to Nan and her two blogs:

All the Good Names Were Taken. If you read this post, you'll get a very good idea of who Nan is and what she's about. Nan is another transplant to Atlanta and we are definitely going to have to have a blogger get together soon now that I'm discovering all these Georgia bloggers!

Aside: I think we need to do a Southeast bloggers party. There are plenty of us here. Who wants to party at 'Tits HQ? I'm offering our acre for the festivities. We're way out in the middle of nowhere, but it's very pretty and no one will get bent out of shape when we start the satanic rituals.....they'll just think we're doing some hippy thing.

Nan has another blog. I See Dead People......and just so you know, inspired by this blog, I agreed to go biking with The Actor last night (sans helmet) and we rode down to the local church cemetery and poked around a bit. Not literally, of course.

Welcome, Nan!

Adventures in Real Parenting: Crash Helmets Required

I'm back one day and, though I'm not dreaming of running away again, I'm wondering why anyone thinks I'm the flake in the family.

Perhaps flake is too strong a word, but you tell me....

Yesterday afternoon, we were preparing to go hang out with friends when, yep, those tornado sirens went off. We all calmly headed downstairs and waited until we could leave. While we were there, Cupcake does what she always does when we're under threat of severe weather. She donned a skateboard helmet.

As we debated whether and when to leave, Cupcake ran around the basement getting on her siblings' nerves, being a bit too loud and looking a bit special in her helmet. The Dancer was pissy because she had to leave for the studio and had been hoping to work on a paper due today. She was especially pleased with me when I pointed out, because I just had to, that she'd known about this paper for a while and here was the perfect example of why one shouldn't wait until the very last minute to do one's work.

I think I heard her mutter a word that rhymed with witch under her breath as she glared at the weather map on the television. No matter. I was the queen of flipping my mother off behind closed doors. She'll get hers one day. I have visions of her having a son like The Actor.

Speaking of the Actor, he's getting to be that age. You know the age where everything about the people you're related to embarrasses you? Yeah, that one. Cupcake was a constant source of angst for him as we drove to town to see our friends. She refused to remove the helmet and rode in the car for nearly twenty miles still looking like a giant insect. Every two minutes, The Actor would tell her to remove it. In response, she'd roll her window down and stick her head out.

At least if she leaned out too far and was whacked by a road sign, her head was protected, I guess.

When we finally got to town, The Actor was nearly beside himself with embarrassment. "Take it off! People are staring!" he hissed at her.

MathMan and I weren't helping. Nope, I think we're still living in that happy place of having dodged a serious bullet. A little backseat bickering wasn't going to bother us. Much.

Finally, Cupcake conceded and removed the helmet. We had just gotten into town when the sirens went off again. We decided to go to the ballet studio where The Dancer had just gone so that we could hang out in the basement until the all clear signal. There was no debate at that point about the helmet. Cupcake, although not at the age where we embarrass her terribly by merely existing, didn't even consider wearing her helmet into the studio.

Because he is at that age, The Actor is an easy target for familial teasing. Even I can't resist sometimes. Just tonight, as I was hanging around on the porch, eating my dinner and watching him do skateboard tricks, he started nagging me to get off my ass and do something.

"Let's ride bikes!" he suggested. I resisted.

"Come on, Mom! I'll ride this little bike and you can ride yours."

"Nah, really. I don't know if I remember how to ride my bike."

"Mom! Come on! You don't forget how to ride a bike! Please?"

"Oh, okay. But let me get my helmet* first."

*Yes I realize that I should wear a bike helmet and not just joke about it, but I'm a risk taker, whatever. I just can't bring myself to put one on. I'm afraid that the added weight, combined with the size of my boobs would make me so top heavy that I'd tip right over.

Plus, I'd totally look like a dork.

In Summary

First, thank you for all the well wishes. With a little Glue (I'll explain later), some patience and a willingness on my part to be a little less of a pain in the ass, I think we're going to be okay.

Second, about my last post.......waking up with a roach on me was bad, but it wasn't what shooed me out of NYC. But somehow I can't figure out how to write about sexual assault and make it funny so let's just say I feel safer here at home.

Third, I'm done fucking around with my name. My real name is Lisa, but you can call me DCup. That's what most of you know me as, so I'm sticking with it.

Fourth, I am now unemployed. I will be looking for a job here in Georgia (and Chattanooga because it's as close as Atlanta). Blogging ops will be at the mercy of the job search because people here still expect me to help out with the purchase of things like food, housing, clothing. The selfish whiners.

Fifth, thank you, Nan. I'll follow up on your suggestion right away!

Finally, it's good to be home. This episode is reminiscent of when I would pack Oreos in my Barbie case and go sit on the corner at Mrs. Benham's house. I'd pump my tricycle hard as far as the end of Wilson Street before deciding that maybe it wasn't so bad after all at home. I'd sit in the grass eating those delicious sandwich cookies, watching the neighbors drive up and down Lincoln Street until that last treat was gone. Then I'd head home and say hi to my mom who probably didn't even know I'd left. Or if she did, she didn't make a big deal of it.

Where do you think I learned folksy sayings like "How can we miss you if you never go away?"

Now, who wants to help me eat these Oreos so I can put away my Barbie case and get on with life?

A Long Way to Go for Utz Potato Chips

What if I told you that as part of a diabolical plot to make me want to be home with her and the rest of the inhabitants of 'Tits HQ, Cupcake kept me on the phone - the speaker phone, in fact - so that I could hear the daily life going on in the home that I had just left behind.

Because that's just what that little buttmunch did.

I got to hear the last three innings of The Actor's baseball game. I got to hear him receive the game ball only to hand it off to another player whom he thought was deserving of the award. Cupcake and I chatted about memories and how much we loved each other and how we would have to do new things, other things to make sure that we were still a family. As I drove away from her and she remained rooted to our home, I could feel the tug of longing. I'd only been gone hours, but I couldn't escape the questions....what was I doing? Why was I doing it?

When I passed the Tennessee/Virginia border, I stopped to put gas in my car. As I stood there watching the money being sucked from my wallet, I tried to laugh off a growing desire to turn around and go home.

I'm just being silly. Homesick. This is like cheerleader camp in the sixth grade when I called my mom in tears and begged to be retrieved from Oxford, Ohio. It was the first night of camp and I was so ready to be back in my own bed. I shook it off and continued north. This was going to be a good job. I was going to be in New York.

Cupcake called again and cried at me. I cried back. We were a mess, but still I drove. More calls, more tears. Friends called to check on my progress. I tried not to lose it on the phone with them. I wanted to be brave, stop being silly. I was only going to be a day away by car. Nine hundred miles. Constantly in contact via phone and email. Piece of cake.

None of this jived with my instincts which were telling me to go home. I was struggling to understand why I thought this would be better. I told myself that since I'd already quit my Georgia job and had this new, better job, I would have to see this through. I'd been telling myself that for a couple of weeks. Myself wasn't listening.

I finally got to Brooklyn at about 10pm. I was exhausted physically and mentally.

I drove through the neighborhood looking for my apartment. I was on the phone with MathMan when I saw Orthodox Jews streaming from their synagogue. That gave me a certain peace of mind. Okay, so it was going to be like our old neighborhood in Chicago. Good. I went a few more blocks. The neighborhood roughened. I started to get worried, but I didn't want to alarm MathMan.

Now this is where I should tell you that my sense of adventure thought that this was going to be okay. When I pulled up to the building, my liberal sensibilities were telling my other senses to just hang on, don't judge too quickly. Wait and see.

My inner smart girl was telling me to just drive away.

I went inside and tried not to let my disappointment and anger show. The apartment was not as it was portrayed to me via the listing or the phone interview. My "landlord" was apologetic. When we discussed the arrangement, I'd told him that it would have to be temporary. As he showed me around, I kept telling myself that on Sunday I would look for something else. Right away I knew that this was not going to work. I told my instincts to shut up. I was tired and how could I gracefully escape now? And where in the hell would I go?

One night. I would just stay the one night and find something else. I took the minimum of things inside and started to get settled. I went to the unscreened window and shut it. I'd rather be sweaty than have bugs come in the window.

Then something happened that still makes me want to shower. Alot. In hot, hot water. With soap.

Finally, exhausted and afraid, I locked my door and went to bed. But not until I'd stomped three roaches and whacked a couple that were crawling up the wall with a sandal. I lay in bed and listened to my heart pounding in my ears as I contemplated what to do. It was late. Eventually my eyes closed and I was out cold.

A cockroach on my arm woke me at four thirty in the morning. I skeezed out, and it skittered away on the bed so I had to jump up and shake out the sheets. Oh my god, Oh my god, Oh my god. What the hell was I doing?

I finally gave in to my need and called MathMan. He answered the phone quickly. I thought about how, as I was packing on Friday, I said to him "I don't want to go." To which he replied "Really?" In response, I started to cry. Again.

"If I call you and ask you if I can come home, don't let me," I instructed him. "You'll have to force me to get over my homesickness."

"Um. Okay."

But when I called at 4:52 on Sunday morning, he picked right up. And listened to me cry about how I wanted to come home, how I'd fucked up again, how sorry I was, what a mess. He just listened and offered encouragement. "You're going to be okay."

I told him about what a dump the apartment was, the roaches, the rough neighborhood. We discussed how I should find another place to live. And then I told him about what had happened the night before and he told me to just take my things and leave.

And so I did. With MathMan on the phone asking me where I was, what I was doing, listening to my progress, I packed up the few things I'd unpacked and carried them downstairs, reloaded them hurriedly into my car and drove away.

MathMan stayed with me on the phone for much of the drive. I didn't stop until I got to Chambersburg, Maryland and my fuel light came on. I pumped another fifty dollars into my car, then went inside to use the restroom. The young man behind the counter rang up my Utz potato chips and coke (I was starving for a healthy breakfast, but this would do). While I was waiting to pay, a man with two little boys came in to use the restroom. The attendant told the father that the key was gone so he'd have to wait outside the building until whoever had it came out.

"It's out that door and to the left," he smiled at the man, motioning with his hands.

I asked him for the women's room key and took my things. Instead of hogging the pump, I drove my car around the side of the building near the restrooms and parked to go inside. The father with the two little boys was standing under a small overhang waiting for whomever was in the men's room to come out. The rain was pouring down around them. I got out of my car and unlocked the women's room for the man and his sons. I stepped off the ledge, into the rain and waited. I was still wearing my clothes from the day before and I so wanted a shower, but this would have to do.

We only part to meet again.

Be well,
do good work,
and keep in touch.

Garrison Keillor

Dislocation, Relocation, Whatever

I'm getting ready to go to bed for the last time here at the Georgia based 'Tits HQ. I can' t believe that the day has arrived for me to get the hell out already (which is how I'm sure MathMan is thinking of it).

I'll probably drive him batty for the next few days with calls about things I've forgotten to do or pack or say. He and The Spawn have a fairly busy day tomorrow so I'll try not to pester them as I drive north. I'm not sure if this time tomorrow I'll be (1) sobbing into my pillow in my new place in Brooklyn or (2) passed out in some hotel because I got a later start than I planned and by 7pm, I was beat. (The smart money is on #2). Either way, I'll be on my way to the next adventure.

I understand that one of the Pussies for Peace has threatened to stow away, but I'll be sure to do a thorough check of the car before driving away. She can find someone else to suck the breath from at 2am.

I'll probably be out of the blogosphere for a couple of days while I get moved and physically settled. In the meantime, will y'all try to behave yourselves? Get outside and enjoy the fresh, spring air. (I just don't want you to load up my RSS feeds so that I never get caught up).

I'll see you soon. That is unless my new job requires me to sign a "no-blogging" clause. In which case I won't see you, but some chick named DD will be all over your blogs with an art deco avatar. Or maybe I'll change my name to something more respectable and take up the wearing of pearls and stockings. Like Babs. Yeah, that would do it, that would throw anyone off my scent. I'll change my nom de blog to Babs Bush. My new blog will be called My Beautiful Mind. And the only pearl necklaces will come from Tiffany's.

Just because, that's why.

Diseased

I have been infected with the Splotchy virus by wyldthing. I think I'm on that tail end of this viral bit of blogger bidness , so I'll skip the explanation. Below the story begins:

I had been shuffling around the house for a few hours and already felt tired. The doorbell rang. I opened the front door and saw a figure striding away from the house, quickly and purposefully. I looked down and saw a bulky envelope. I picked it up. The handwriting was smudged and cramped, and I could only make out a few words."(Splotchy)

Despite the throbbing pain in my knees and the dull ache in my lower back, I bent down slowly and picked up the envelope...
Oh no. It did not say this, did it?
Oh yes, it did. It did.
The handwriting was familiar in a way that inspired a cold sweat and a bout of nausea. It was the penmanship of my former husband. You know - the one that was presumed dead.
He disappeared in a suspicious blogging related accident a number of years ago and was never heard from again. I was devastated. I had hated the blog, loathed the thing. What began as a hobby that took but a few minutes a day had morphed into an addiction, the proportions of which could not be measured. It was pure evil.
The blog turned into a cruel and demanding mistress and her siren song was more than I could compete with. One day he left for an evening event, never to return again.
All fingers pointed to one blogger, but I could never get the charges to stick. That one is slick- slick, slick, slick. He can talk a good game and write like nobody's business. But there is something about him, it just is not right.
So my husband was gone, that other one kept blogging and I had to rebuild my life, which I did.
So I finally had the bastard declared dead.
And now this. (FranIam)

Suddenly the phone rang, and I felt like I was ten inches tall and eerie music was playing in the background. I went to pick up the phone and the music stopped.
"Hello?"
Dial tone, no one was there. I glanced back to the door, and there he was. He rushed me and rose his hand and...

Suddenly the phone rang and I just had that "black cat, Friday the 13th" kind of feeling. I looked out into the world. No one, no one was about. I closed and locked the door and went to answer the phone.
"Hello?"
Dial tone, no one was there. I glanced back at the door and it was locked.

I directed my attention to the envelope, abruptly, I heard a knock at the door.(Wyldth1ng)

I waited, rooted to the spot. There was another knock. Still I stood waiting. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. The knock became louder, more insistent.

Suddenly, the room was flooded with bright light. My eyes flew open and I was staring again at the speckled, drop ceiling tiles above me.

"Wakey, wakey," came the sing-song voice of the morning shift nurse Maryann. Shit. When would I ever stop having that dream? And what was I doing in bed with Suzanne Pleshette? (DCup)

Okay, people have at it. I tag the following:

CDP
Magdelene
Jennifer
Pagan Sphinx
susan

Welcome to Procrastination Station

I procrastinate. There's packing to do, a bit of last minute prep, some financial loose ends to address and lunch with my friend tomorrow. But I continue to screw around online, reading blogs, answering emails, watching another Miss Marple, trying to decide between a cup of coffee and nap and avoiding laundry.

I keep thinking I should do a really good deep cleaning before I leave here - sort of my last gift to the family before I run away from home. I don't think they care and I'd rather spend what little time I have left here enjoying their company and doing the things I enjoy.

I've gone out to the garden and gotten a little misty-eyed about leaving it behind. I think I'm redirecting my emotions toward it because if I thought about leaving MathMan and The Spawn, misty-eyed would turn to great big, fat sobs.

Day before yesterday, Cupcake told me that she's angry with me because I won't let her come with me. I'm glad that she's able to tell me how she's feeling and I know it's going to be an emotional roller coaster into the foreseeable future. The challenge will be to keep those lines of communication open - long distance.

MathMan has been helpful in making suggestions about what I should take with me. I'm renting a room, so I'll be house sharing. I'm not sure I'll need to take the sofas that are still stacked in the front yard. Besides, without them there, how would we fit into this neighborhood?

Anyway. Let's move on to a cheerier subject. Let's all give a a great big PoliTits welcome to the newest blogs on the blogroll......mmmm rolls.....maybe I'll have the cup of coffee with some rolls.

Welcome Brave Sir Robin and Miss Britt

Don't Call Me A Racist, You Monkey

Reason # 27 why I won't be mind so much not living in Georgia.

Supersized Intensity

My favorite spam of the day....

Subject Line: Cuum with new intensity, here's how

The message itself: There is a reason why superman wears his underwear on the outside

My reply: Thank you for explaining the underwear on the outside thing. I lay awake at night pondering it. Now could you tell me what' in that stuff that would add an extra u to the intensity?

Takin' It to The Street: How Far Will MyTwenty Go?

You can find me dining over at American Street.

I strongly urge you to click that link. Thank you.

A Muddle, A Puddle, Nothing to Cuddle

Sheesh, busy day. I know I only put up a video post yesterday and now I'm likely not going to be able to post here today. Yesterday, I ended up having to deal with some really emotionally charged bullshit in the meat world and on my other blog and now I need to do some work - it's my last day with my current organization.

I've also got to bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies before The Actor makes good on his threat to open the chocolate chips and eat them from the bag. Oh, and then there's that whole packing thing that's quite important and, naturally, this if the time of year when the three schools The Spawn attend think that parents enjoy sitting through endless awards programs, recitals, banquets and concerts. Not that I don't love them (ahem), but there are only so many hours in the day. So.

Yesterday got so sucked up with the have to's of life that I didn't get to read most of the blog feeds to which I subscribe. Late last night, as MathMan slept fitfully because I wouldn't turn off the television, I pulled a Fran and deleted most of my feeds. I feel a little lost not reading you yesterday. Nevertheless, today is a new day, I'm looking up and have a lovely picture from my friend Jennifer to prove it. I'm putting the final touches on this job I've held for seven years. It's kind of like finishing a chapter. I'm feeling pressure to wrap up all the loose ends. As if.

Here is a post that I think you'd appreciate and, dang! it's Wednesday! I need to boogie over to American Street and post something there, too. Thank goodness for my redneck neighbors - they gave me some blog fodder for today.

So now I'm done posting about posting. The lameness of this post - it hurts. Go read that link and one more thing. A song.

Enjoy your day. Because I said so, that's why.

Two for Tuesday

I know that cliche becomes me.

Madeleine Peyroux. I'm Alright.



Dance Me to the End of Love

Conversing Across the Generations

The Spawn and I discuss the personal as political.

Me: Dammit! We forgot to go to Jenna's wedding!
The Dancer: Oh no! I can't believe we forgot!
The Actor: Who's Jenna?
Me: They must have wondered where we were!
The Actor: Who is Jenna?!?!
The Dancer: George Bush's daughter.
The Actor: Oh. I thought she was gay.
The Dancer: That's Dick Cheney's daughter.
The Actor: Well who is she married to?
The Dancer: She's not allowed to get married. She's gay.
Me: But a dimwit [sic] like Jenna Bush can get married.
The Dancer: Because we really want that bloodline to continue......

Later, I related this story to my mother during our annual Mother's Day phone conversation. I'd also finally informed her that I would be moving to New York very soon. She was much displeased to learn this news and made a point of referring to me, MathMan, my new-divorced brother and my twice-divorced sister as "you people" as she lectured me about our failings as spouses.

Mom: Well, what's going to happen to your kids?
Me: They're going to stay with MathMan until he can sell them into the white slave trade.
Mom: Very funny, smartass.
Me: I come by it honestly, just like my politics.
Mom: Well, at least you haven't turned Republican on me.
Me: Don't be so sure.
Mom: Are you going to be a smartass in your new job? I'm sure they'll really like that.

Because the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, that's why.

When You Care Enough to Send the Very Best

While I'm sitting here waiting for the mother worship to begin
(Did someone forget my breakfast in bed?)
I thought I'd take a moment to wish all the mothers who read here a very happy Mother's Day.
(Helloooo, MathMan? Spawn?)
And I was thinking on motherhood, you know. Which is something I try not to do very often.
(Hey, were did everybody go?)
And I came up with a short list of the things motherhood has taught me.....
(Was that a car door slamming?)
(1) The body changes which I won't go into again.
(2) I can stand up from the table, still chewing, and clean up vomit, poop, spit up...without gagging or joining in.
(3) Kids are incredibly resilient. And they bounce when you drop them!
(4) If things are quiet when other people are awake in the house, that means I'd better go check to see what's going on.
(5) I can sing and make up songs for an appreciative audience. Until they grew out of it, of course. (note I didn't say sing well. And that's the song I sang. I am not Natalie Merchant)
(6) My mom isn't an idiot after all. (Happy Mother's Day, Mom!)
(7) You can be a good mom without Disneyfying the world for your kids.
(8) It's the little things that matter. They don't necessarily require that we sweat them, but they do matter.
(9) Ritual is critical
(10) Love isn't always easy, happy or fun

(Do I hear them coming upstairs?)

Happy Mother's Day!



Because now I get to spend the day drinking dirty martinis and playing with my Mother's Day gift, Grand Theft Auto IV, that's why!