Heart Shaped Red Sunglasses

I like whimsical things.

This dog looks very much like my late dog, Mitch. Mitch was a girl, a cocker spaniel, and I bought this clock because it reminded me of her.

I get bluesy during this time of year. There's a watery quality to the sunshine and the light starts to fade too early. Waking at 7 AM, it's still dark outside with just a hint of dawn on the horizon. Never mind. I don't get up until 9 AM anyway.

I took the sunglasses off the dog clock and put them on myself. For some reason, those goofy sunglasses made me feel happy. I saw a woman going to work one morning wearing a hat with cat ears sticking up on top of it. I think this is kind of the same thing.

I wore my red heart shaped sunglasses to the store this afternoon. Everybody smiled at me. That made me feel happy too.

I guess I'm old enough now to wear heart shaped red sunglasses. People may think I'm a bit "touched" and they might be right.

Still, it's better than dressing up like Cat Woman. I used to do that when my grandson Cyrus was about four and wanted to be Batman and I tied pillowcases across his shoulders to make a cape.

My daughter was embarrassed about both of us in those days. I put on my black catsuit and boots, and put on a headband with cat ears and off we went! Cyrus was proud of his paisley cape. Sometimes he wore a black chiffon cape. Then his mother was really disturbed.

We didn't care one bit! Cyrus is 18 now. He still remembers going to the shopping center as Batman and me dressing up as cat woman.

He thinks I rock.

Spelling It Out For Men

This post is not male bashing.

I like men as well as the next girl. I think they are cute, smart, sexy, funny and all the good stuff. But they do have a weird characteristic. They have to be told exactly what you want them to do.

When Alex leaves his socks on the floor next to the hamper in the bathroom along with a pair of underwear, and I tell him to put his socks in the hamper, he will comply. That's fine as far as it goes. Does he also pick up the underwear and toss them in the hamper? He does not. I didn't tell him to put the underwear in the hamper.

If I ask Alex to feed the dogs, he does so. After feeding the dogs, as we are walking to the car to go out for an evening, I ask "Did you check the water bowls?" Of course, he did not. "The water bowls are right next to the food bowls, Alex."

When Alex was traveling, I had my friend Nelson carry home a 25 pound of kibble for my dogs. I further imposed on Nelson to open the kibble and pour it into the bin for me. He complied. What Nelson did not do is take out the plastic measuring cup that was in the bottom of the bin. When I asked, where is the measuring cup, Nelson said it was in the bin. "At the bottom of the bin?". "Yes," he responded.

My darling professional dog trainer, Todd, was here yesterday. We were taking Zoe on a walk to help me understand what needs to be done when walking her. Todd is emphasizing that we need to stay two steps ahead of Zoe mentally and watching our surroundings at all times. He had Zoe on the leash, and a young man walked up. Todd and Zoe were completely blocking the sidewalk. Zoe jumped up on the young man to say hello. Todd got so caught up in the mechanics of training that he completely missed what was going on around him.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

I think sending a man to the supermarket really makes my point. If you ask the man you live with to go to the store and bring home four things, he is going to have a difficult time. Let's say you ask him to pick up coffee, bread, a green vegetable and some olive oil.

Although he lives with you and knows what kind of coffee he drinks and bread he eats day after day, year after year, you'd never know it when he comes home. The coffee will be "Sumatra Roast" when you drink French Roast. The bread may be pumpernickel. A green vegetable may be a package of frozen peas. Or it could be grapes or a kumquat. And the olive oil will be a can of Crisco. And that's on a good day. If you don't make him write the list on his hand, you can forget getting anything you ask for at all.

Oh he'll pick up beer. And maybe a big bag of tortilla chips, plus some salsa. A couple of packages of cookies and maybe some ice cream. There may also be a package of frozen chicken wings. Great!

When asked about the coffee, bread, vegetables and olive oil, he will respond that he couldn't find them, or that the supermarket was out of those things.

Or he will hit his forehead with his palm and say "Damn! I knew I forgot something!"

What's Love Got To Do With It?

I'm just saying...

Most polygamous families are not like what is shown on "Big Love". First of all, they are almost always very poor. They don't live in nice houses in nice neighborhoods with nice cars and nice clothing for their families. They frequently go hungry. They go without medical and dental care.

Females are treated as brood mares. They keep having babies until they are finally used up. It's not unusual for them to have 10 kids or more. This is not because they love having babies. It's because having multiple wives and scores of children will give their husband an elevated position in heaven.

Could any of this sound even faintly reasonable to any thinking person? You whelp a bunch of brats who you have no intention of educating or even feeding properly or taking them to the dentist for that matter, and for what? So he can be a king after he dies?

Never mind that you only get to sleep with this "husband" once a week or so, if that often. Never mind that you resent him bringing the pretty 14 year-old in as a "sister wife". Never mind that you are supposed to defer to the husband in all matters. I mean, who would actually choose to wear those dumb prairie dresses and have those "whoop-dee-doo" hairstyles?

I understand the concept of a harem. Shoot, if you are a big time Sheik and you have 400 wives, fine. These babes are guarded by Eunuchs, live in palaces except when they are taken by caravan into the desert so they can roll around on Oriental rugs, have servants, get to eat and drink all they want, and only have to "service" the old Sheik once in a blue moon.

Now, admittedly, that's not great if you are a female astro-physics scientist, or a tax lawyer, but if you are a clerk at the local WalMart, it might be considered an upwardly mobile move.

I think some people would enjoy lollygagging with their girlfriends, watching cable television and polishing their nails all day while wearing those little "I dream of Jeanie" outfits.

I guess what I'm wondering is what is the "up" side for polygamous women? You get to continue being your husband's servant in heaven. Oh great!

What a concept, huh? I'd rather call old Sheik Abdul and take my chance in the harem.

In Praise of Boyish Women

I love boyish women.

The first one I actually got to know was a girl I met when I was about 12 and at a CYO Summer Camp. I probably fell in love with her at least a bit. She was a counselor and a little older, maybe 18. I really wanted to be just like her.

Of course, at that age, I didn't know she was a gay woman. I just thought she had a certain swagger and a certain confidence that made me want to follow her anywhere.

I met Lynne when I was working at Chevron and in my 20's. She was the first woman I had ever known who was "out" as a gay woman. I seriously liked her and took her for drinks and dinner several times.

Lynne liked me but told me she was hesitant to get involved with a straight woman. (I had been married and had children at this point.) I don't know if I was attracted to Lynne sexually or not, but she was very "boyish" and I found that appealing on several levels. Again, it was a thing with "confidence" that she exuded.

My best friend is CT. She's a gay woman and very boyish. I adore her. The thing is, when you find a great gay woman, she's really the best of all worlds. You hear the word "butch" thrown around and while it can be descriptive in a way, in a way it really isn't. Gay women can be ultra feminine, or very boyish, or anything in between. "Butch", to me, is a word used generally to put somebody down. So I really don't use it.

I do have a preference for the more "boyish" looking and acting gay women though. Just on a personal level, a woman with a silver crew cut, and bright blue eyes, wearing her police uniform with a little swagger, Wow! And yes, this woman cop works in my town.

Well let's just say, I'd let her frisk me anytime.

We're Just Like Ashton and Demi (But Different)

Alex does not have bangs.

Ashton has been married to Demi for 6 years. Alex and I have been married for 22 years. Ashton has acted in movies. Alex has taken acting classes and he was actually quite good at it. Ashton is taller than Demi. Alex is shorter than me (but he says he isn't).

Demi Moore has kids. I have kids. When I was Demi's age, I was as skinny as she is, but I'm not now. Demi has two ex-husbands. I have at least that many. Demi has appeared on film topless. I have too. Demi shaved her head for her role in "GI Jane". I wear my hair very short.

The age difference between Ashton and Demi is about the same as the age difference between me and Alex. Is it any surprise that I wake up some days thinking I'm her?

When that happened this morning, I immediately started to hyperventilate because I was missing my husband in my bed. I felt sure that he was off frolicking in a hot tub with some bimbo named Sara. I was pretty sure too that he and Sara would probably have unsafe sex after the soak. I was pissed. How could he do this to me?

Wait, I'm not Demi. Alex is not Ashton. He just went to work.

Whew!

My Deformity - My Secret Shame

There I was about four years old.

Adorable, if I do say so myself. Still, that long hair hid a dreadful secret. My mom told me that my ears stuck out and I must never show them NO MATTER WHAT.

Of course, because I was told that I had this dreadful problem, I immediately began looking around me and seeing all the girls with ponytails. I wanted a ponytail more than anything!

My mom actually told my dad that she was going to try and find a surgeon who could make my ears not stick out so much. My dad scoffed at the idea of such a thing and told her she was being ridiculous. I wasn't so sure. I mean, what kid wants to be nicknamed "Dumbo"?

My mother was a very enterprising woman. She found an ad in a movie magazine for an adhesive that would correct this problem. I think I was about eight years old the day she finally pulled my hair into a ponytail and then she glued my ears down and sent me to school. Man! I shook that ponytail for all I was worth and I was thrilled.

Unfortunately, while I was sitting in the classroom shaking my ponytail from side to side, "boing!" one of my ears came unglued.

I was mortified. I was the girl with the one ear glued back and one ear sticking way far out! I tried to push the ear back into the adhesive but like so many things in my "technical" efforts, it was to no avail. I even tried using a piece of chewing gum to get the ear to lay back down, but it didn't work either.

I decided the best thing might be just to un-stick the other ear, but that was not possible without paint thinner or a surgeon. It held fast. Nobody said anything and I think it's because they felt sorry for me.

By the time I was 14, I realized my ears were not deformed at all and that my mother was goofy as bat-shit. I pushed my hair behind my ears or pulled it into a ponytail anytime I wanted.

I just never looked back at the days when I had to hide my ears NO MATTER WHAT.

I'm Not That Kind Of Girl

"What local clubs do you belong to?" asked the nice looking lady at the museum this afternoon.

Oh, my! Clubs? What kind of clubs? They closed the local pot club I think. I didn't belong to it, but that's the only club I can imagine might be of interest to me.

She laughed and said "Would you be interested in joining a club? It's really a fun bunch of women!" She introduced herself as an Alameda widow named Joanne. Lovely person, really. I had to explain to her that I am just not that kind of a girl.

Joanne was behind the counter at the museum with two older ladies. She was well-dressed and very charming really. I told her that I was pretty sure if I went to one of these "club" meetings, she would pray that nobody ever learned it was at her suggestion. In other words, she would rue the day.

I have a lot of friends who are "club women". They belong to the "friends of the opera", the local "friends of the SPCA", the "Daughters of San Francisco", the "Garden Club", the charity gigs, etc. They volunteer at the hospitals and sit on the boards.

I'm not that kind of a girl. Now, don't get me wrong, I give to charities until it hurts. I adopt homeless animals. I take care of local old people who need help.

But I'm still more "club bimbo" than "club lady".

And that's the way I like it.