Well Clutch My Pearls

It happens every time.

I may write something that is a little racy, but I seldom use four letter words. I hardly ever discuss bodily functions. In fact, I don't even show private parts in my photos. Now, I guess my posts might be rated PG, but I hope you would never think of them as crude or offensive.

I write about a wide variety of subjects, my relationships, my husband, my pets, my grandchildren, my children on occasion. I also write about ancient history, or maybe that time better known as the 70's and the 80's.

I also write about lust once in a while. I don't think having a yen for the handsome Ramon is terribly naughty. I don't actually pursue Ramon, but I do think about the beautiful music we could make together, and perhaps it gets more graphic in my head, but I never would bring that to a post.

On rare occasions, I may discuss naughty bits, but it's rare. I am not sure I've ever included the word vagina or for that matter penis in a post. I actually don't consider those terribly racy words in the first place.

In my last post, I did write something that was somewhat unusual for me. I wrote about an event that occurred over 20 years ago and that I thought was funny. The punchline of the entire post was at the end and included the words "black bush". Shocking, I know.

Sure as shooting, I lost one of my dear followers over this post. I should have expected it, but I didn't. Too bad. Each and every person who takes the time to read something I have written is very special to me.

But those words, "black bush" just made someone clutch their pearls and move on.

Bye bye.

What Color Is My Parachute?

He was my ex-husband.

He had been my ex-husband 18 years ago. We were held together by the threads of our children. When we divorced, we had a 3 month old daughter and a 3 year old son.

He and I had spent time growing up together and then growing apart as well. Our son turned 21 in August the year I turned 42. My husband John was about 5 years older than me at this time. John had been diagnosed with brain cancer a couple of years earlier. Over the 18 years we had been divorced, we became friends on a totally different level.

On August 31st, we celebrated our son's 21st birthday together, with his wife and my new husband Alex. This is the true story of what transpired.

John had given me a gift certificate for Elizabeth Arden's Red Door for Mother's Day. (No, his wife was perfectly okay with this expensive and extravagant gift.) After all, he was not my most recent husband at all. And she understood that John and I loved each other from "way back".

We took my son to the Tonga Room at the Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco the night after I had gone in for my day at the Red Door. I decided that if I only had one life to live, let me live it as a blond.

I emerged from the day of beauty that included a facial, a manicure, a pedicure, a massage, a professional make over and as a blond after 40 years of being a brunette.

Oddly as a natural brunette, I made a good blond. Light hair throws more light on your face than dark. My former husband looked at me across the table with his wife and my husband and my son sitting there and said the following words. He would die within a year without knowing the answer.

"So what did you do about your black bush?"

Rocky Starts

I think I'm off to a rocky start with Alex being gone doing whatever it is he does for a whole month.

Yesterday, I found that one of the dogs had thrown up all over the 90 year old Persian rug in the dining room. This was in the early morning when I am least likely to appreciate dog vomit.

I looked at both dogs closely. Harry looked to be in good spirits and seemed to be okay. Honey was a little "under the weather" but then she is old and sometimes has trouble getting up and around much before noon. I can relate.

I grabbed a dustbin and cleaned up the mess from about 3 separate locations all the while trying to tell my gag reflex to calm down. Then it happened. I twisted and threw out my back a bit with that all too familiar painful "boing". (Now mind you, a "boing" is much different than a "boink" and I have a much worse reaction to the boing.)

I cleaned up the mess as well as I could while swearing under my breathe (mutha fugger! mutha fugger! mutha fugger!) and tried to get up. Nothing to hold on to close enough to grab and the back spasm went into full attack mode while I wondered how I would manage.

I figured out that if I crawled, I could get to the kitchen and grab the pet poo cleaner-upper solution. No it was not poo, but none the less, I wanted to clean up the rug as well as I could.

I returned to the dining room as Honey was again in the process of throwing up on the rug. I gently moved her head to the hardwood floor and she puked up the rocks that you see in the above photo. Apparently, one of the rocks is actually a piece of charcoal from the bbq pit out in the yard. Oh, why ask why! I'm sure at first it tasted delish coated with meat juice and fat.

I telephoned my vet to ask if I needed to be concerned and they told me that this was not uncommon but to watch her closely to make sure she didn't have a "blockage". Uh huh. Usually I would have insisted that I bring her in to the doctor, but in this case, I figured I'd just watch her for another day. She seems fine today and has eaten and pooed with no problem.

My children have always wondered why I set such a store on healthy poo with my dogs (and with my kids). I've always firmly believed that good looking healthy poo is an important indicator of overall health. If the poo is well formed and "normal" then I can sort of assume all is right with the world. Okay, maybe I have a hang up.

Still, with Alex gone, taking Honey to the vet is a problem. She is a big girl, and at about 80 pounds, she is difficult for me to lift, particularly when I can't even walk. My back at this point is allowing me to walk but I walk with great effort and I doubt lifting Honey's fat ass (or as we lovingly call it "her 40 pounder rounder" into the car would do me much good at all.

Now, on the bright side, I took a nude photo of myself right out of the bath and sent it to my husband in Europe. Oh, and an upskirt too.

He said he likes the photos.