Martin, Cloe, and Me

In a perfect world, I would be spending Christmas with Martin and Cloe.

Martin (not his real name) looks like a pretty nice guy. I like his holiday sweater. There is something very special about his relationship with his cat, Cloe (not her real name).

They both look calm and content. I am nervous and discontent. I think Martin and Cloe are planning a little dinner at home on Christmas Eve. Maybe just a couple of friends will come over to Martin's magnificent condo and enjoy an elegant repast.

Martin and his friends will drink Pouilly-Fuissé and enjoy crab legs in mustard sauce. They will listen to Georg Friedrich Handel's Messiah on CD.

About midnight, his friends, after finishing their coffee and almond torte, they will embrace and depart. Martin and Cloe will lie down on the dark green leather couch and turn on the television and cover themselves with a cashmere throw. Cloe will lie on top of Martin's chest and purr contentedly.

My Christmas will not be like Martin's and Cloe's. It will be noisy and nerve wracking. I have not yet started to Christmas shop. I have not yet thought about Christmas cards.

The Orient Express

I have always loved trains.

My mother used to take us to Oklahoma City every year on the train. We always had a compartment which may sound like a luxury, but with 3 (and later 4) children, it really wasn't.

I remember the dining cars, which in the early 1950's were actually very elegant. White linens on the tables along with gleaming real silver and crystal. We would usually have dinner and lunch in the dining cars. Breakfast was brought to us by an attendant. I thought it was very "posh", or as my 7 year old self would have said, "fancy".

Later, as an adult, I was married for a time to an oil company executive who was in charge of transportation for the company. We were hosted by the Santa Fe railroad to take a trip from Oakland to Reno in the private car of the railroad's president. It was an amazing trip. I was very surprised at the luxury of it. Pressing a buzzer when I wanted something (a drink, a glass of water, ) from the serving person was something very foreign to me and not entirely compatible with my middle class upbringing.

A wonderful sumptuous luncheon was served in the dining area. How just two people turned out such a lovely meal out of such a small place boggled my mind.

Ever since I was young, I had always wanted to take a trip on the Orient Express. I was sure that would happen one day and I would be going from Istanbul to Paris on that train. Alas, it did not happen and now it's too late.

But at least I got to see the movie "Murder on the Orient Express". That was better than nothing.

Fix The Flaws - Not So Fast

We all seem to see what we consider our "flaws" very clearly.

Whether it's a bump on the nose, or small breasts, or crooked teeth, or cowlicks, we are all very well aware of them. I think women may feel a little more self conscious about perceived flaws but I don't really know for sure. Men seem to be less pushed toward perfection than women.

I have a bump on my nose and slightly crooked teeth. But then I'm so arrogant, I think I look fine even with my flaws. I've always been inclined to give greater credence to my assets than my flaws. Oh, except one thing.

When I was a child, I had about two years in bed because of illness. I had rheumatic fever followed by mumps encephalitis. I had a home teacher during the period that I was laid up and frankly, life was fine. Sure I missed playing outside, but I was able to spend my time reading and everyone treated me like a little princess. Yeah, a sick princess, but still, it wasn't bad.

The only thing that I had as a lasting effect after the illnesses was a bad stutter. The doctors thought it could be related to the encephalitis but they weren't sure. My mother was horrified and took me to speech classes immediately. Unfortunately, that didn't "cure" me. Mom also talked about taking me to Lourdes to see if I could be cured, but it really wasn't in her budget. (And I was really hesitant about getting in dirty water so it was really just as well.)

So I went to the third grade and realized that answering questions in the classroom was not to my liking because it invited ridicule. At that point I began just playing stupid about answers, by shaking my head to indicate that I just didn't know. I'd rather have the nuns and kids think I was a dummy than to advertise my "impairment".

I did fine in school except for my lack of communication skills in the classroom. Fortunately, my written skills were good enough that I still got very good grades.

I can honestly say that as a child I did feel "handicapped" by stuttering, (well, until I reached about 13, anyway). By the time I was in my teens, I realized that the boys really didn't care if I stuttered at all. They were too busy being charmed with my boobs and legs.

I still stutter but not much. Many years ago, I overheard a boss talking about me to someone. He was telling the person that I was very smart, very capable, and that I had the "most charming little stutter". That cemented it for me. I was just fine as is. No fixes required.

I'm Just A Girl Who Can't Say No

I find many things hard to resist.

I have purchased a complete Encyclopedia, a Kirby vacuum cleaner, and even almost signed up to become Mormon.

All somebody has to do is to come to my door and if I'm home, I'll probably buy what they are selling.

The Kirby vacuum was a major deal. I was 19 and just married and the guy came to shampoo one room of our apartment "free of charge" just to let us see the Kirby vacuum. I think the Kirby weighed more than I did at that point. You could use it as a vacuum, but you could also flock your Christmas tree with it, and paint too if you wished. The Kirby handle was shaped like a dildo and had a very strong vibration too. (The salesman didn't point that out to me, I figured that out on my own.)

The fact that the Kirby cost about $1,000 did not phase me in the slightest. What's money compared to having a really clean apartment to live in! Plus, flocking a Christmas tree could be really fun.

My husband John was not so much delighted with our new vacuum as I though he would be. To say he nearly shit is putting it mildly. (Never mind, we weren't going to be married that long anyway. Plus, I got to keep the vacuum.)

When my son was born I bought a family album plan. We got one ugly professional photo per month for the first 12 months of my son's life. Then we got an ugly photo of all of us once every three months for the next year. After that, we got a semi-annual photo, all for a very reasonable price. Yeah, right. Of course, we got maybe two ugly photos and decided to cut our losses, but we were on a contract. Damn!

When those two adorable young men, all dressed up in their suits and ties knocked at my door, I took one look at their fresh handsome faces and thought "This is my lucky day!" Seems they were missionaries for the Latter Day Saints. Of course I invited them in and offered them refreshments. We talked all afternoon and they wanted to come back the following week. Oh they were cute! I just didn't have the heart to tell them that I was a pagan. So it took about 3 visits before they realized I was not being converted after all. Pity! I liked having them visit me.

I also had a milkman named Joe that I ordered our dairy products from. I loved Joe and gave him coffee twice a week when he filled my huge order. I loved ordering things from him even if we didn't need them.

The Fuller Brush man was another frequent visitor, as was the Avon Lady. Thank goodness I got past all that. Now I just don't open the door. It's safer that way.

Suspiciously Stained Socks

Alex took the coupe in to the tire shop to get new tires put on early this morning.

I stayed home drinking coffee and looking at email and news for the hour or so he was gone. The dogs napped and the house was unusually quiet for a Saturday.

When Alex got home, he took the pups for a walk while I got ready for the day. We decided we would go to lunch and then to the movies on this cold and rainy Saturday afternoon.

When Alex opened the car door for me on the passenger side, I saw a pair of stained white socks laying on the floor of the car. Alex said "Are those your socks?" Uh, no, Alex. We have been married for 21 years and I have never had a pair of socks like that in all that time, now have I? I kicked at the socks and saw they had some weird stains on them. I reacted with a "Ewww!".

Alex asked me "Where did they come from?". Now, keep in mind, he took this car out this morning to get new tires put on. The last time I rode in this car, there were no stained socks on the floor. I would have noticed.

I pointed out to my husband that he had taken the car out this very morning and gone to Big O Tires. The socks must have appeared while the workers were taking off the old tires and putting on the new ones.

Alex said "That doesn't make any sense." Okay, let's just say that Mario who works at Big O Tires has padded his crotch area to enhance his "bulge" to impress the ladies with his equipment. The sock bundle could have slipped out of his boxer briefs and fallen to the ground. Before anyone else noticed, Mario may have tossed the socks into the car.

My explanation seemed to cause Alex to both snort and have a gag reflex. I think it might be a reasonable hypothesis that this is exactly what transpired.

Since there were 5 men working on our tires this morning, it's unlikely that a local housewife was walking home from the laundromat and noticed that her husband's white socks were still stained with something unseemly which would enrage her husband. So she decided to just toss his white socks in our car. In the first place, it was raining, so the car window was up. In the second place, the door was locked.

We did manage to toss the socks in a garbage can, or rather Alex managed to. I didn't want to touch those socks without a hazmat suit. He just picked them up with a piece of paper. I hope he didn't "catch" anything.

I Got The Drama From My Mama

This is a very old photo of my mother in one of her costumes. She was a dancer and a showgirl.

Mom also performed in movies and was under contract with MGM where she appeared in numerous musicals.

My mother was 16 and just ending an unfortunate marriage when she left Oklahoma City with a dance troupe. She traveled cross country and into Canada during WWII to entertain the troops.

Along the way, she had a chance to dance on Broadway opening night for the musical "Oklahoma". Once she arrived on the West Coast, she danced in several popular nightclubs.

Mom's roommate in Los Angeles was Yvonne De Carlo who appeared in many films and later became fairly famous as "Lily Munster" in the hit television show, "The Munsters".

My mother moved to San Francisco when she was 20 years old and worked at a popular San Francisco nightclub called Bimbo's 365. During this time, she met a good looking young police officer and she married him.

A year and a half later, I was born, followed two years later by another sister, and three years after that a third sister. I guess my parents thought it would make sense to give it one more try (for the elusive boy child) and that's how I got my youngest and 4th sister.

To say that my parents had a "volatile" marriage really doesn't cover it at all. As far back as I can remember, there were moments of horror followed by moments of hilarity. My parents were magnificently beautiful people and magnificently flawed as well.

Mom taught me to "faint dead away" by the time I was 9. After a terrible screaming match with my father, Mom would grab her daughters and we would leave him forever. The only problem was, we were on foot with no money and nowhere to go.

That's when I would be called upon to "faint dead away" on the sidewalk. I got to be really good at it too, even ignoring the ridicule of my sisters saying I looked like the witch in the Wizard of Oz who melted. Mom would hurry off to call my dad to come and pick us up while I continued to lie on the sidewalk with my eyelids fluttering.

Of course, my dad would hurry to come and pick us up and then my parents could have a reconciliation. I know it sounds awful, but it was actually kind of funny.

My ability to faint on short notice has served me well as an adult too. When the shit is about to hit the fan, I can still drop to the floor "fainted dead away". Thanks Mom!

The Navajo Tomahawk

My husband Alex has a weapon that has been handed down in his family for a few generations.

The rather deadly looking tomahawk is hanging in the office along with some of his commendations and awards for military service.

(Alex has a lot of those and a ton of medals from 25 years of being in the military.)

The tomahawk is one of his prized possessions right along with his handmade Kachina dolls, Indian pottery, baseball card collection and black cars. Alex also collects bobble head dolls from Giant's ballgames. Oh, and then there is also a foreign coin collection that Alex has acquired in his travels. Wait! I'm forgetting about the guns! Alex has a gun safe that is jam packed full with rifles, shotguns, and handguns.

We have a curio cabinet full of his "stuff", as well as a display case for his medals. We have unfortunately run out of room for much more.

For example, Alex's three black cars take up all the room on our long driveway. Alex's commendations take up a full wall in our house. The Native American paraphernalia is spread out all over the house. We also have tons of "tech toys" everyplace you look. There are laptops, gps units, portable dvd players, ipods, ear phones, calculators, along with things that are tech toys but I have no idea what they are.

I am frankly something of a minimalist. I love the "less is more" approach to things. Alex is a "more is better" kind of guy. When I look on the bright side, I realize he never complains about my fat ass.

Still, do any of you know how I can contact the tv series "Hoarders"? I think we need an intervention.