How do you choose which hurts you hold onto?

I find that I am drawn to two kinds of people in my life...Brainy smarts and wild flamboyance. The brainy smarts, well, I loves me a big brain. The sparks that fly from big brains are what make life worthwhile for me. But my own big brain gets me into trouble and I over think things and start feeding my own insecurities, which leads me to the other recurring character in my life, the loud flamboyant one who shows no fear. I have said before on this blog, I am at times paralyzingly shy. Completely socially retarded. I assume that people forget me as soon as they meet me, and that they are not talking to me. So when I make an outgoing friend, I am fascinated by them, and enjoy their ability to force me out of my shell. Sadly, the other trait of flamboyance is a certain carelessness. They make off the cuff remarks and promises that don't pan out, and it's no big deal.

In general one of my best traits is that I don't stress over things, I am the one that sucks it up and moves on. But I have to say, sometimes it feels like I can hold a grudge like a muthafucka.*

I shake things off and move on, but I soak it into my big brain and start analyzing it, and over analyzing it, and get all butt hurt. The Honey is a Master of Butt Hurt. The people who have stood me up or inadvertently hurt my feelings are banished forever in his mind, and he sneers when their names are mentioned. Which is kind of nice that it's on my behalf, but ultimately it gets exhausting. Sometimes it's people I love and adore, sometimes it's people I am still genuinely fond of. I can't function while in butt hurt mode. I have to be able to put it away and move on with my day. The Honey likes to buff and shine his grudges and set them out where he can see them. Mine are hidden away in a cupboard in my brain, and I only bring them out for a polish when I get my feelings hurt.

I got my feelings hurt today and I so don't want to add it to my dark little cupboard to trot out the next time someone disappoints me. I wish they were at least righteous grudges that I could be proud to hold onto, you know? Then I could call them up and say "Fuck you for killing my dog, ruining my career, or re-electing Dubya after he'd clearly fucked it all up (Hey, wait a minute, I could be onto something..)" But how do you call someone after fifteen years and say "Fuck you for giving me a pencil cup for Christmas when I gave you a full set of towels because I THOUGHT about you and what you needed. And while we're at it, fuck you for casting me as Mare Winningham in the "Who would play you in the movie" game! Because you, lady, are no Sharon Stone." See? They aren't even GOOD grudges and hurts. They are petty and small. It is my sincere hope that by typing this out, I get it out of my system, so that whatever dark gremlin made me just google a picture of Ms. Winningham--who is a fine character actress, don't get me wrong--will crawl back into the cupboard for a while.


*Greg Beck, wherever you are, I still miss your posts.

Brian Crook, Where are you now?

Brian Crook is no longer Brian Crook. He took his mother's maiden name after she passed away, and we lost contact.

Brian wasn't even my friend, he was my brother's best friend when we lived in Sacramento. He and his younger brother, Brent, lived across the street from us, around the corner from Birdcage Walk as it was under construction. I would get sent over to call my brother home for dinner and
Brian's mom would always tell me to get a piece of candy from the dish--I was four or five, people, that was HUGE. Brian's family had also come from Redding, but they lived in Enterprise. Being four or five, I had no concept of subdivisions or parts of town. I thought Brian and his family had lived on the Starship Enterprise. I always wanted to ask if I could see their uniform shirts.

The Crooks moved back to Redding about the same time we did. The boys made their own skateboards, for YEARS. They became fans of Devo, of Blondie, of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. They double dated. Then Brian and his family moved to Portland. My brother went to live with them the next summer. It broke my heart. I hope Big O always makes time for Little O the way my brother made time for me. I'm sure a sister six years younger worshiping you was a drag sometimes. My brother sent me tapes for my birthday, Synchronicity, by the Police, and Bonnie something, she sang total eclipse of the heart. (Sweet lord, why am I telling you that? I apparently have NO kind of filters or dignity) I about wore out that Police tape.

I'm thinking of Brian Crook because after my brother went up, Brian came down and stayed with us. He brought his guitar, and on lazy afternoons, he would sit in the family room and play Beatles songs on his guitar and sing them with me. It was heaven. I sing. It's just my nature, I sing constantly, to the point of annoyance and monotony, at times.

I bought Little O the Disney sing it because my girl loves to sing, too. Imagine my glee at discovering that the microphone is compatible with Rock Band. The Honey bought me the Beatles Rock Band disc for my birthday. I told him we could get the guitars and drum set later, I just wanted to sing.


I didn't know I knew the words to Dear Prudence, but listening to it, I don't hear the Beatles singing, I hear Brian Crook. It makes me smile.

I hope someday he googles his old name and finds this. I hope his kids (I hope he has kids) buy him Beatles Rock Band and sing it with him.

Notes for Next year:

NO PROPS!

What works excellently for trick or treating (and, by the way, it totally DID work for t-o-t), does NOT work for parties or work. Having your costume lying in a corner because you cannot function while holding it, or are afraid you're going to put someone's eye out in close quarters? Fail.

Everyone at the party had couples costumes, so next year I'll try to make that happen, too. The Honey is outta luck in terms of hooched up. I have to be able to wear it to work and trick or treat with my kid in it. I also have to come up with something that the Honey will wear. He's muuuch more conservative about which costumes he'll wear. I was thinking about Boris & Natasha, although really, I should give that to our Host and Hostess from this year's party. They are very aware that she is taller than he is (Whereas I don't care that I am taller than the Honey) and she's already slim and dark haired. She could rock the tight purple dress. But her man wore a Mario costume all night, so she can talk him into anything. Just getting the Honey into all black would make my life much easier.

On a separate note, getting Little O Disney's Sing It has just re-affirmed my belief that my kid is sweet thanks to a lack of cable in her life. Even Disney would be too much. Maybe especially Disney. I know that Shar-Pay is a caricature, but does Miss Priss? We had a long talk about how she behaves towards people, because Little O loves singing her song, but it kind of makes me queasy to hear her sing it.

There's a whole generation out there that has grown up watching that shit unsupervised, because Mom & Dad think Disney's okay. Those are the same kids that worship Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian, and think it's okay to order a "Fitness pole" for your room at 16 (Don't ask, it's a long horrible story).

Big O has kind of settled into a groove as he starts high school, so I am a little less worried about him. Little O is wobbling in an interesting spot. Yesterday she said to me,

"When I sing that song at school, it's almost like there's these girls that are listening and laughing at me. It's like they sneak up on me. Isn't that WIERD?"

Apparently, when I drop her off in the mornings, if none of her friends are there yet, she plays Hannah Montana by herself. I love that she is so blissfully unaware of how mean girls can be. I hope she gets to continue being that blissfully unaware. Nobody needs to learn THAT lesson in the first grade.

Sigh.

A nice cozy Sunday listening to my seven year old tunelessly singing along to her new Disney sing-it for the wii.

It's kind of my definition of a perfect Sunday except for the Honey being stuck at work and no Big O.

I am a fairly laid back parent. I don't do hysteria and drama. So my reaction caught me of guard when the Ex told me he was at the Urgent Care with Big O. He's got the flu. Yeah, the Dr. at the clinic says it's probably THE Flu. The Ex said he may as well keep him there to keep it away from Miss Priss and the Elder contingent on our side (Mrs. G & Mama Dina). I appreciate that. But. My boy is sick.


I want him here, logic be damned. The blogosphere is full of horrifying H1N1 stories. Feel better, Bubby. I'm busting the door down if your dad says you're still sick Monday.

I blame Anne Geddes.

I do not have any weird Flemish art in jigsaw puzzle form. Am I depriving my kids? Was this yet another way my parents snuck culture into my life? Because this picture was THE epic jigsaw of my childhood, and one of the measures of how grown up I was...how far could I get before I gave up and put it away for another few years?

Little O (Who turned 7 today, by the way, but I'm ignoring that particular trauma--my baby!) has strawberry shortcake and My Little Pony puzzles, and there is a Baby Bee puzzle from Anne Geddes that still has not been opened, although she is very interested-- for about three minutes.

This concludes my random thought for the day.

Holy Holy Water, Batman!

Yep. It's done.

Little O was entranced by her Rosemary rosary. :)

Her padrinos got a band. Technically, there were TWO bands. Insane!

I thik a good time was had by all, although I am still deaf in one ear from the band. Next up? Halloween!

Cowbell, or Jellyfish? I also need a smoking jacket for the Honey, who will be going as the devil. I got him some great horns...

I'm crazy. That's why.

Little O is finally getting baptized.

It has blown up to a huge party thing, from a simple sprinkling of holy water and some lunch with her padrinos afterward.

I apparently hurt the feelings of Favorite sister in law by not choosing her to be the godmother.

I told Little O that she is going to start going to church and her face just crumpled. Since I hadn't imagined she'd have any objection, I was *ahem* taken aback at her reaction...was I raising the devil child?

"What's wrong, baby?"

"Mama, church is in SPANISH. I don't understand it."

Poor baby. We always take the Honey's mom for high holy days, and it IS always in Spanish. I explained that she could go to the English services, and she cheered right up.

But her baptism will be in Spanish. I don't think their priest speaks more than a few words in English. I wish Father Dan were here. He could do it in Spanish AND English--but I think he would make us do the whole classes thing. He was my friend Leisa's priest, and he agreed with me back in the day that you don't do the wink-wink kind of thing in God's house. I knew Big O's dad wasn't taking him to church, so why would I lie and say we were going to raise him as a Catholic?

Little O is going to have to go to church regularly. I will get her dressed up and delivered to Sunday school at least twice a month. In the wonderful world of Mexican Catholicism, that will be plenty. If we hurry with the catechism classes she can wear the same dress for confirmation. :)

Big O was in another quinceanera a few weeks ago, and I picked up the caterer's card. Little O saw it and leaned over to me and said,

"Mama, did you get their card so we can call them for MY quinceanera?"

Oh, sweet pea, you have so many dreams for me to crush...