You Want Me To Ride Where???

I've been a registered Republican since I was 21 years old.

I am fiscally conservative, socially liberal, and in favor of small government.

In 2008, I would have probably voted for John McCain if he had chosen a vice president I could have lived with.  Unfortunately, he chose Sarah Palin, so my only choice was Obama.

Although I'm not a huge Obama fan, I do respect him.  He's acted with grace and good judgment in every situation.  I do not blame him for some early hedging on some of the more liberal issues.  He's done the right thing when the time was right.

I was somewhat surprised when my party chose Mitt Romney for the Republican candidate.  Romney seems to be a smart guy and a good businessman, but I really knew very little about him other than that.  I also knew that Romney was Mormon but that didn't give me pause.  (Frankly, I see no reason that a Muslim could not be president if he was qualified.) 

As far as the social issues are concerned, there is a lot of "posturing" on both sides and much of it is meaningless.  I don't believe that is a selling point in most cases.  I think we have to look at the candidate and judge for ourselves what kind of a leader that person would make.

But now we come to my Achilles heel.  When it was reported that Mitt Romney and his family had stuck their Irish Setter, Seamus, on top of their car in his crate for a 12 hour trip I was aghast.  Further, when the Romneys never acknowledged that this was a stupid and cruel thing to do, I was outraged.  Mrs. Romney went so far as to say in an interview "He loved it!" (meaning the dog).  Mitt Romney said that he wouldn't do it again seeing as how such a big issue has been made out of it.
 
I certainly wasn't born knowing "the right thing" to do in all instances of animal care.  I gave my German Shepherd  an Aspirin when he was injured in a fight and we were about an hour away from a vet's office.  It could have killed him.  I just didn't know any better.  I admit my mistakes freely and don't cover them up or deny them.

Romney also bullied a gay kid in high school, but calls it "high jinx" that he really can't remember anything about.  I threatened to beat a girl's ass when she made out with my boyfriend in high school and I remember it clearly.  It was wrong of me.

A person needs to show integrity and admit when they are wrong.  Unfortunately, this does not seem to be the case with Mr. Romney. 

For the third time in my life, I will vote for the Democratic candidate.

Losing My Cherry

This is a story with a moral.  So pay attention.

When I was 14, I stopped being a tomboy and started being a normal, active, girly girl.  At first, my mother was thrilled.  But then, not so much.

I lied about where I was going.  I had "secrets".  I kissed boys.  I went to parties where the parents weren't home.  I smoked cigarettes.

My mother was fairly strict.  She had told us all the important things that young females should know.  For instance, if you give away milk, nobody will ever buy the cow.  We also learned that if we ever smoked pot we would turn into a heroin addict. Also, if we lost our virginity, nobody would ever want to marry us.  (I did wonder a bit at this last bit since my mother had been married before she married my father, but let's let that slide for a moment.) 

When I asked my mother about how a guy would know if you were a virgin or not, she said there was an absolute way to tell.  Virgins had something called a hymen.  (Gross, right?)  A man would know immediately if his new wife was a virgin. 

Well, it was a safe bet that I wouldn't be giving away any milk or smoking pot and I was going to remain a virgin so I could get married.  So far so good. 

I went to a party one night with a couple of girlfriends.  There were guys at the party and no parents.  We had fun, dancing, listening to music, and some making out may or may not have been going on.  On this particular night, I had told my mother I was going to the library with my girlfriend and then spending the night at her house.  (Only that second part of that was true.  We were not going to the library.)

When I got home the next morning, my mother was waiting for me.  She was furious for some reason.  Mom asked me "Where were you last night?" and I responded "I was at Cheryl's house" to which she continued to grill me for details.  "Were you at a party?"  (Busted.  No way out. But I gave it a try anyway.)  "I was at the library."   Mom yelled "Oh no you weren't!"  So I figure the jig was up so I admitted I had been at a party (after the library, of course. I wasn't ready to surrender and tell the whole truth just yet).

Apparently, some girls (not invited to the party and jealous) had called my mother about 10 PM and told her that I was at a party and had sex with about 10 boys while I was there.  I was struck dumb (as in speechless not stupid) by this accusation.  I told her that just wasn't true.  She told me she was making me an appointment with a doctor to find out if it was true or not.

I shrugged.  Whatever.  I knew for sure I had never had sex so I had no real concern about having a doctor examine me.  Sheesh!

I went to the doctor and he examined me and told me everything was fine.  I already knew that.  But my mother said that the doctor had told her "Your daughter is not virtuous."  WTF???  Does he mean because I lied about the party or what?  My mother told me, "No.  You do not have a hymen so you are no longer a virgin."

Actually, I was a little relieved to find that out.  Now I could quit worrying about "losing my virginity" since I wasn't a virgin anyway.  Oh, and I could also use tampons!  Happy days!

Years later, I told my mother that I was actually shocked that a medical doctor would have told her what he did.  She explained that he had actually said that I didn't have a hymen but that it didn't mean anything.  She made up the rest to intimidate me into telling her the truth. No real harm done and I have the ex-husbands to prove it.

But damn!  You mean I stopped being a virgin a full year before I ever had sex?

Hot Tubs, Yuppies, and Dogs

I don't like hot tubs.

First off, I don't even particularly like water.  Oh, it's fine to drink, but I have a preference for hot tap water if I'm drinking the stuff.  Frankly, most of the time I'd rather have gin and juice.

Large bodies of water scare me.  I'm fine with a bubble bath, but I don't swim.  I don't like the ocean and lakes terrify me.  I don't even enjoy a shower because it feels like the water is trying to drown me.  One wrong turn and the water is in my eyes and up my nose.

I know people who have hot tubs.  (These people are primarily yuppie types.)  They all seem to think I want to get in their nasty hot water with them.  I do not.  Sometimes, yuppie people who have hot tubs want to get into them nekkid.  That's fine for them if they are home alone, but don't even think about getting in a hot tub nekkid with me.  That is gross.

Nasty stuff lives in hot water.  Believe me on this one.  If you go in, wear a wet suit just to be safe.  All those bubbles can hide a multitude of sins.  I'm just saying.

My dogs, Harry and Zoe don't like water either.  Harry (the big guy who looks like a bear in this photo) likes chasing ducks into the water, but only up to his elbow joints.  He also stays next to me when I am in the bathtub because he thinks I may be in need of protection from bad people if they should walk in while I'm bathing.  He has a point.

I take my Kindle and iphone and regular telephone with me into the bathroom with me.  But I never take guns,grenades, or knives.  Harry thinks I'm being foolish not to, but hey.  That's what he's here for.  My former dog, Willie, a German Shepherd, loved the water.  He would race into the waves at the ocean, jump in the lake, or splash into the tub with me at any given chance.  Harry just lays down next to the tub and looks bored when I'm in the bath.

Zoe will not even walk into the bathroom if I am bathing. She hates water with a passion.  Zoe will not even wade in after ducks.  She's a girl after my own heart.

If I come to visit you, and you are a yuppie, and have a hot tub, I will sit on a chair next to your hot tub while you are in it and have a gin and juice.  But don't invite me in because I won't do it.

The Church People Next Door

They moved in next door when my kids were young.

I was renting an apartment in the Richmond District of San Francisco.  I saw my new neighbors the weekend they moved in.

They were both young, attractive, and moving to San Francisco from Memphis.  They seemed very nice.  I spoke with them while they were moving in and gave them some ice water.  My kids were happy to meet the new neighbors who seemed like a very nice young couple.

I found out from our landlord that the man was a minister at a local Baptist church and his wife taught at a local elementary school.  Charming people, the landlord assured me.

About a week after they moved in, I invited them both over for a cup of coffee (to be neighborly, you understand).

My kids were home because it was Saturday.  Sheila was about 3 and her brother was about 6.  The new neighbors and I  sat and had coffee and cookies and talked about the man's church and the woman's school position.  The kids wandered around the apartment playing while we chatted. 

The kids were in my bedroom, and I wondered what they were up to, but I didn't interrupt to go check on them.  The minister and I were discussing his church and he asked me if the children and I attended services.  I answered him honestly that we did go to different churches almost every weekend, but that I was not really a member of any congregation.  

I could hear my daughter laughing and her brother saying, "No, let me see it!" and I heard a weird sound, almost like an electric mixer.  My daughter came running into the living room holding a 10" dildo that was pulsing away.  She had a great big grin on her face as she said "Mommie, look!"

Conversation came to an abrupt and absolute halt.  I tried my hardest to contain myself, but laughter started up and I couldn't hold it in.  I spluttered coffee all down the front of my blouse.  The harder I tried to stop laughing, the harder I laughed.  When I saw the church people's eyes trying to act like they didn't notice anything amiss, I nearly fell off my chair.  We bid each other a quick farewell, and I collapsed again in horror, humiliation and laughter.

I guess I could have explained to them that the dildo had been a joke gift from an ex-boyfriend.  I guess I could have explained that I had only kept it because I didn't want to throw it in the trash and have someone "discover" it.  I guess I could have explained that 10" of dildo might be too much of a good thing.

I never went to my neighbor's church.  I never invited them for coffee again. I think they were both glad that I didn't. 

Frankly, I was glad when they moved about 6 months later and I no longer had to hide when I saw them coming or going.

Pacification with Pork Chops

My darling daughter, Sheila, and her husband, and my granddaughter, Arianna, came for a visit yesterday.


Visits from my daughter are always a pleasure, but they also generally make me feel like I'm a little lost in space. Plans change on the fly, so to speak.  It started off with a series of frantic telephone calls on Friday evening. Voice messages, about 10 of them, expressed extreme concern over my whereabouts.

"Mother, where are you?  Call me!"

"Mother, are you okay?  Call me!"

"Mother, I'm getting worried.  Call me!"

"Mother, I've called you on your home phone and your cell phone and there's no answer!  Call me!"

"Mother, this is ridiculous!  I've been calling you for two hours!  Call me!"

"Mother, it's getting late and you still haven't called me back!  Call me!"

"Mother, we were thinking of coming over to see you, but it's late for that now!  Why haven't you called me?"

"Mother, it's me!  Call me!"

"Mother, well, you aren't answering.  Call me when you get home."

"Mother, it's 8 o'clock at night.  I'm really getting concerned.  Please call me!"

"Call me!"

Well, heavens to Betsy!  What on earth is this all about?  I really am not a feeble person.  I'm not at all likely to be lying injured on the floor with my arms and my legs up in the air like a turtle flipped over on its back.  I am not saying that is impossible, but it's just not likely.  At least, I've never done it before (not to my daughter's knowledge anyway!).

I had been to dinner with a dear friend.  I don't answer my cell phone when I'm at dinner.  I turn off my cell phone unless I'm expecting an important call.  I don't talk on my phone or "text" or play games on my cell  when I am with other people.  Maybe that's because I'm old.

I telephoned Sheila about 8:10 PM and asked her "What's up?".  She railed for a few moments about how worried she had been about me.  "Mom!  Your husband is away and you really need to let people know what you are doing!"  Uh, really?  I get a call from my daughter about once a week, or once every other week.  If I am not home, she can leave a message.  I will call back when I get home.  Seems reasonable to me.

Because Sheila had been so worried about me, she announced that she would be paying me a visit the next day.  (I think she wanted to make sure I was not eating cat food and/or drinking malt liquor to excess  since "my husband is away".)  I told her I would love to see her and that we could have lunch on Saturday.  Simple plans are always best, I think.

On Saturday, Sheila phoned about noon to propose that we change our visit from Saturday to Sunday.  That was agreeable to me.  We again decided to shoot for lunch, and that Sheila's husband and daughter would be joining us.  Sounded fine.

I called my daughter at 11 AM on Sunday to see when she was leaving.  Sheila told me that they were all still in bed, but they would call me in a few minutes to set up a time.  (I thought to myself, "Queer.  Don't people have lunch around noon?")  Never mind.  Sheila called an hour later with a new plan.  I'll lay it out for you here:

"Mom, new plan.  Why don't we come over about 2 or 3 this afternoon and I'll bring a fish.  I'll cook for you and we'll do all the clean up afterwards.  How does that sound?"  Well, frankly, bringing a fish to visit me or to cook for me just didn't tickle my fancy at all.

I said, "Never mind Honey.  I'll make pork chops."  Stunned silence and then peals of gratitude rang out of the phone!  "Oh my god!  I love your pork chops so much!  I can't wait!  See you at 3 this afternoon!" 

Of course, at 3 in the afternoon, Sheila was just getting out of the shower when I called her.

But my pork chops really are divine.

I Was Supposed To Marry Elvis

I think I was 10 when I first saw Elvis Presley on the Ed Sullivan Show.

Before that first introduction to the man who should have been my first husband, I had planned to become a nun.  I prayed on it, and was sure I had a "calling".  That "calling" went right out the window when Elvis made his appearance on the small black and white television screen.

Elvis was born on January 8th.  I was born on January 21st.  Elvis was 11 years older than I was but age was just a number to me.  (I've always been sort of free and easy about those things.  Ask anyone.)

I was 12 when Elvis left to go into the Army.  I was distraught, but brave.  I knew he'd probably come back alive since he was in Germany and it was not during a war or anything.

While Elvis was in Germany, he met this girl, Priscilla, who was only 14.  I was stunned.  I was not too young for him after all, having turned 13 and 14 while he was gone.  I had black hair.  I could have gotten blue contacts if that's what he liked.  I loved him.  I gave up being a nun for him.  My mother hated Elvis at first, but then she and her sister fell in love with him about the time he started doing those tacky Las Vegas shows.

I moved on from Elvis when I was almost 15.  I even stopped seeing his movies.  My mother and my aunt still swooned over him even in those stupid looking jumpsuits.  If I had been his wife, I would not have allowed him to wear anything so dumb.  (Ask Alex if you don't believe me.)

If I had been able to marry Elvis at 10, I would have in a heartbeat.  By the time I was 15, the love affair was over.  It may be just as well, seeing as how it didn't turn out really great in the long run.  I still think the guy could sing though.

I visited my son in Memphis when he was in Millington, TN,  doing his "A School" to become a Navy Airman.  My daughter Sheila and I stayed in a suite at  the Hyatt Regency.  My son John joined us there for the weekend.  Sheila and I were going on to Oklahoma City to visit my mother's older sister, Berta, for a few days on our trip before returning to San Francisco.  The day we left Memphis, I called my aunt to confirm our arrival time with her.  She was horrified that I had been in Memphis and not visited Graceland.

My daughter and I told her we would try to get on a tour before we caught our airplane.  We took the Graceland tour.  I never felt so inbred in my life.

When I saw the "jungle room", I thanked my lucky stars I had escape the fate of being Elvis's wife.

Fake Smiles

Can you grin like an idiot when you are sad? 

I can.  I'm bored and I'm missing my husband.  I've done a number of things to "keep myself busy" but none of it is working.

I had dinner with a friend on Friday night.  Eh.  I bought some new sandals.  Eh.  I bought $100 worth of new panties.  Eh.

I'm taking the dogs out in a bit to Coast Guard Island.  That may or may not cheer me.

Alex is gone again and he has been for a while now.  He spent all of the month of June away, and he's gone until the end of August this time.  Shoot!  That's our summer!  I hate it when I'm home alone.  But I hate doing things just to be doing things too.

I went to a party yesterday hosted by a lady across the street.  I really didn't know anybody but they were all friendly people.  I drank two glasses of white wine, felt it hit me and went home.  I just felt miserable.  Being around a bunch of people didn't make me less miserable.

I think I should put on my ratty old robe and ratty old nightgown and just not get dressed until Alex comes home again.  Oh wait.  I have to go to San Francisco to the doctor tomorrow.  I like my doctor so I don't really mind.  Well, I do mind because he's going to ask me if I've been to the gyn and had the mammogram he ordered for me.  I have not done either thing and I have no immediate plans to do them.  I am just not in the mood for all that tom-foolery right now.

Maybe I'll ask the doc for some happy pills.  Oh shoot, I doubt there really is such a thing.