tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68991118613291807362012-02-28T14:24:08.552-08:00Mostly truth mixed with exaggerations & some over-done fabrication.Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.comBlogger2071100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-34222601337114574252012-02-26T23:10:00.008-08:002012-02-26T23:39:57.833-08:00

Dear Friends,With SOPA, perverts, and internet bullies, I have decided to abandon my blog to seek out new forms of communication that cannot be tainted by hackers or trolls.  After today, all my tweets, blogs and FB status updates will be by telegraph.  I’m certain that you will agree, the internet is passe, binary antiquated and that morse code is the code of the future.Peace.Dear friends stop I

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-17851071654949393242012-02-24T16:19:00.001-08:002012-02-24T16:24:44.359-08:00

A cell phone composition for Gman's FFF55: In the back seat of my family wagon, the black bagged bottles from Liquor Mart clink to the rhythm of uneven asphalt. The man who sold them to me trembled with palsy (or DTs) when he asked for my ID. On the radio, politicians' soundbites replay like satire. 2:15pm: time to pick up the kids.

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-19022130520153992482012-02-20T00:00:00.001-08:002012-02-26T23:39:16.949-08:00

WARNING:  Explicit content.  Contains adult language and situations.    X marks the spots where Caroline buried another failure.  Her body: a map of evidence rising from the inside out.  Once again, beneath layers of tinted creams and  layers of clothes, black bruises mar her arms, thighs, hips, breasts and neck.       This time it was Marcus, a cute cuddly bear of a man recovering from divorce.

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-86616071542130548452012-02-18T07:46:00.000-08:002012-02-19T21:22:40.410-08:00

The birds are outside my window again, screeching their wake up call. One cat sleeps beside me, his furry head resting on my arm while the rest of his body purrs under the covers. The other cat is curled up on my side. My son is already taking advantage of his weekend TV privileges, knowing that as soon as I'm out of bed, Wii time is over. But I'm still in bed, catching up on blogs and comics

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-86480395209059538152012-02-13T15:57:00.000-08:002012-02-13T16:10:04.933-08:00

Writing about strangers seems like I'm writing about myself in the third person.  And the fact that I am struggling with the idea of writing about myself, which is all I feel I am capable of doing right now, feels like I've already failed. These prompts were ones I thought, at the time of committing to them, were good and easy enough.  Hell, one word prompts, how hard can it be? It's not the

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-18814682572262716272012-02-06T16:49:00.000-08:002012-02-06T17:12:50.147-08:00

The pigs in the back of the truck were the only dead ones. They were so bizarre and unexpected that we took photographs because we didn’t believe they were real.  All the other animals were wild and fun the way we were before we settled into the rules of what we thought it should mean to be good, responsible parents. I’ll toss this ring into a lake or gutter if it’ll bring back the you I

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-65223353817621113922012-01-30T13:58:00.000-08:002012-01-30T18:44:41.454-08:00

First, Mac, the old hobo, said he saw Ms. Otter pick up a rag-a-muffin looking girl at the bus station.   Cathy said Otter never mentioned a visitor to her.Then Ritchie said he heard piano noise from inside Otter's. She was having a ragtime party in there and she weren't alone.   Cathy said Otter didn't like ragtime.Next Mr. Phelp said he saw a young woman on Otter's porch swing.  She even

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-71388516377903649452012-01-23T20:50:00.000-08:002012-01-23T21:01:48.429-08:00

I stopped searching and suddenly he pulls up beside me in a Bentley with out-of-state plates.  This one wears a black beanie, rolled up like a fisherman’s, and a gold hoop in his right ear: my cholo pirate papa.He used to be a disco-dancing Vinnie Barbarino, Staying Alive, and a Freddie Mercury wishing he’d never been born at all.  Later, when we got cable, he was Tom Petty Free Falling because

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-5475673482038547042012-01-23T07:51:00.000-08:002012-02-19T21:24:26.256-08:00

Dear Friends and Readers, Due to circumstances beyond her control, my dear friend, Just Me, won't be able to post for MFM this week and so I'm considering postponing my post as well. It just don't feel right playing the game without my partner. Hope you all understand. Always, Jennifer (aka Stranger) ***UPDATE:  Nevermind.  Just Me's amazing beautiful MFM is up and so is mine.

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-26338006494989240242012-01-20T11:12:00.000-08:002012-01-20T11:12:04.789-08:00

    In the little 1920s cottage that is now a school library, we chase our childhood around the book-lined rooms the way our Kindergarten kids chase trolls and warp holes down the old floor vents.  While they seek secret passages behind bookshelves, we find them in the familiar, tattered, old books we loved like magic. It's 55 words and a complete story even if only in subtext, and so yes it

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-54024868989733158892012-01-18T11:10:00.000-08:002012-01-18T11:10:50.464-08:00

The internet goes dark and suddenly I find my hands typing effortless words on a screen, something I have been struggling with for months?  Seriously? On this day of boycott?!  F-you very much, brain. Please go sign the petition.   Thanks and Peace.

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-15473008603725609302012-01-16T15:33:00.000-08:002012-01-16T15:44:38.232-08:00

He tells me to write a story about some guy getting crushed.“But not sad, no one likes sad stories, so, to make it a not-sad-story, make it where the guy doesn't die. Or he's the bad guy because then it’s ok if he dies.”“But it is sad when a bad guy dies,” I say.“No it’s not.”  He’s five and knows that it’s good to kill what’s bad.Although I’m 36, we agree that my knowledge is limited.  But I was

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-67758211503651899632012-01-09T13:53:00.000-08:002012-01-09T14:01:35.952-08:00

Maddy usually talks too much and too loud.  She comes over to tell me what she’s heard from her son, a boy I used to know, who now lives overseas.  She tells me of his wife, about them moving back and making her grand-babies.   I listen, smiling when Maddy smiles, feeling her pride and her hope for that some day when he’s back home again.  This time, when I see Maddy, she looks different.  She

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-92017603779043778272012-01-04T13:14:00.000-08:002012-01-04T13:14:15.698-08:00

On New Year's Eve, I feel asleep before midnight after an overwhelming and long day with Ookla's family.  The new year greeted me at two thirty in the morning with a call from my five-year-old son's bedroom: "Mom!  Dad!  I threw up in my bed!" Hello 2012. I spent the early morning hours and all day of that first day cleaning and tending to my sick child, running for barf buckets and holding

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-56682062071435764832011-11-03T15:05:00.000-07:002011-11-03T15:05:41.328-07:00

I've got ten minutes to confess that I'm trapped underneath a mountain I manufactured.  I’m buried beneath disasters I created attempting to eliminate (or prevent) other messes.  I’m overwhelmed by unfinished projects scattered around my home.Imprisoned by a clutter of fragments creating discord in my mind.  But I’m still here, under this pile, writing. *look at that, ten minutes is just the

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-30696320220636969112011-09-30T12:02:00.000-07:002011-09-30T12:44:44.024-07:00

(For those seeking no more than 55 words,  that post is here.) This one's for EL who laughs, even when I'm not joking. He asked for a poem explaining my defect, then he went off and wrote his own.  So, this is what he gets: You think you’re so clever, Mr. “Whistle While You Work”While I sit here, pushing wind through pursed lips, Failing to find even the hint of music.Jiminy Cricket would

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-54457068288426536702011-09-30T11:04:00.000-07:002011-09-30T12:46:53.543-07:00

Mom found God in rehab And started preaching, “Let go and let God” While taking a lighter to her lover’s clothes (before tossing them in the street.)“God is love”While arranging another’s furniture on the front lawn, (just in time to catch the sprinklers’ rain)‘Cause Love is the god she can’t let go. Got a story to tell in 55 words?  Go tell G-man about it.  Want to read more 55 word stories?  

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-41606434750815083652011-09-28T10:16:00.001-07:002011-09-28T13:33:36.376-07:00

My son stretches out his hand flat against the fence, so the chain links can slide and bump against his palm as we make our way across the lot towards the elementary school.   "I wish I were still in preschool,” he says, watching the new batch of three year olds playing on the “little kid” climbing structure, running around screaming, wearing the superhero capes that we made and donated two

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-9554349626420673352011-09-27T10:34:00.000-07:002011-09-28T10:14:28.959-07:00

1.The double vision, vomiting and headaches warranted the trip to Urgent Care.  “It’s his eyes,” the doctor said. “He needs a new prescription.”The optometrist said, “I've never seen anything like this.  He needs a neurologist, immediately.”Then, from the experts we heard, “We don’t want to alarm you, but expect a tumor.”But were forced to wait a week for an MRI.He’s only 16.  His mother died

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-69886825259493151202011-09-23T12:52:00.000-07:002011-09-23T12:52:27.399-07:00

They claim that the Kindergarten drop off promotes independence and confidence. It’s like a drive-thru, except I lose something when I pull up to those smiling faces.Mrs. A opens his door and helps my son out. But I refuse to drive away until he and his Clone Wars backpack are out of view. Oh, my.  It has been awhile since I've played G-man's Fantastic Friday Flash Fiction Fun, and I'm

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-60379668753622697592011-09-05T16:23:00.000-07:002011-09-05T16:23:52.282-07:00

Although he says he was born from a hiccup, it was the cough that burst my water. From another, he was born. (That awful cough saved me from being induced!) Five years later, I've got a new cough and a big kid who'll always be that baby born once upon a cough.

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-91157465470080073562011-09-03T10:18:00.000-07:002011-09-03T10:36:50.215-07:00

Lost counts, Stitches spiraling  No reasonNo controlFloss in felt in flesh making art, making clutter, makingWords have lost their sense, their meaningOr maybe I’ve forgotten how to use themBut fingers with needles keep pokingKeep piercing until the story surfacesStill too soon to say what it’s aboutToo soonBut a story still.Do more testsThen waitExperimentsThen wait for expert opinionsSecond

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-78087389456519944852011-08-17T10:28:00.000-07:002011-08-17T10:28:44.002-07:00

Where have the days, weeks, months gone? Summer mornings getting misty, school supply shopping and birthday party planning trump lounging lazy under the spray of sprinklers. Where have the years gone? From nipple to cup from diapers to big boy undies to clothes he'll wear only if he picks them out. I may be experiencing the kindergarten crisis. So, I'm running around like a soccer mom meeting

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-25584106613269921032011-07-30T19:35:00.000-07:002011-07-30T19:43:29.425-07:00

Day 30 of the Just Me Stranger Music Challenge was supposed to be based on requests.  There was a misunderstanding and so, sadly, I'm not prepared with anything. So, this is it - my last post of the challenge going out with a disappointing fizzle.   I'm sorry. Phermone Girl suggested I write about a song that reminds me of a smell.  She wrote that there's a song that reminds her of the smell

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-19112793084875398152011-07-29T10:15:00.000-07:002011-07-29T10:19:19.760-07:00

Yesterday I walked in on my four year old sitting on the toilet.  "Mom, I wrote my name," he said.  "But you can't see it."I thought he meant in pee and was worried when I saw that he wasn't pointing down towards the water.  He showed me what he meant by repeating the process.  He was trying to use his penis to carve his name into the toilet seat but obviously, it wasn't working."Honey, we don't

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-39386521671838705812011-07-29T08:21:00.000-07:002011-07-29T08:21:15.859-07:00

     “What, now that you’re happy, you’re leaving me?” he asked.  “How does that make sense?”      She stood there with her mouth open wanting to say something, anything.      Was it possible?  Was she happy, finally?      She shook her head.  She felt empowered by her decision, yes.  Certainly she’d regret the decision in the morning.        But happy? This is a 2-for-1:  55 words for

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-10796095307494513612011-07-27T22:37:00.000-07:002011-07-27T23:22:58.457-07:00

Riding in his car chasing the sun to the ocean, racing up switchbacks coasting, neutral, down mountains.Just me and him, beside each other, so close, so certain it was --  Loved the music, loud, beautiful conversationswallowed in stereo.Spontaneous grins stupid jokesand cozy sighs to silences riding between us. No cares about the costor lack of destination.  Riding with him driving. Aimless. Now

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-86740001927223598592011-07-26T23:11:00.000-07:002011-07-26T23:20:41.011-07:00

Caller 1 wants to let him know that she's sorry for eating the last toaster strudel      (But she's not really sorry.) Caller 2 is calling to say that he screwed up and he knows she was the girl for him      (Ha!  That means he just realized the girl he left her for isn't interested). Caller 3 is driving around with her boyfriend and she wants him to know he rocks her world      (She's trying

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-27600155847583382942011-07-25T20:33:00.000-07:002011-07-25T20:36:29.827-07:00

This past weekend I was supposed to focus on cover songs.  I was looking forward to working on these prompts because I've got a lot to say about covers and I'm fairly picky about what makes a cover decent. But I took the weekend off the blog to spend time with family and to catch up on sleep.  I'm back to neglecting family and life to try to catch up on the blog.  Sorry for the rushed feel to

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-82201572047368019512011-07-22T22:31:00.001-07:002011-07-22T23:31:49.675-07:00

     Who says misery loves company?  Mine loves solitude and  a song that reinforces (intensifies) what I feel - and heck, this one hits deep in my core.  You can't get anymore real than this.  It's become my anthem, whether I'm cycling through a particularly hard depression or rising up to that place of mind that I'd stay forever if I could find a way.    You can read about the magical

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-50692295144201291782011-07-21T18:40:00.000-07:002011-07-21T18:40:41.302-07:00

Won't be home in time to blog my happy song - it's Grim Grinning Ghosts, the song from Haunted Mansion at Disneyland. Instead I'll show off a DL photo we took just minutes ago.

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-76845385064706984112011-07-20T21:21:00.000-07:002011-07-20T21:30:27.965-07:00

"I ain't no goddamned son of a bitch.  You better think about it baby!" Aint it true? When I feel like I'm ready to lose my temper, I wait until I can be excused from parenting duty, grab my keys and go for a drive on the highway.  It's usually late enough at night where I can drive fast enough and far enough to get all the violent fantasies out of my system.  I turn up the stereo and sing

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-58494220504984309882011-07-19T23:03:00.000-07:002011-07-20T07:51:54.219-07:00

     I've mentioned my mom in a few blog posts.  In one, I documented (simplified and sort of fictionalized) the last visit with her (you can read that one here).        But there's also this  one, this one and this one.       People ask me why I don’t write her off, why I bother working so hard at keeping a relationship with her.     Why?  Because I love her.  And although the moments are rare

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-38309536692584398912011-07-19T08:48:00.000-07:002011-07-19T08:54:09.520-07:00

If I were to write a song, I’d want to write a song that reaches into my heart and into what I call my soul. My song would find the pain that I've experienced and rub against the scarred sadness that remains.  I’d hope my song would show the world the beauty in the hardest times of existence, even if only in hindsight.  Then, in the song, I’d want it to open up and let the listener out with a

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-18988720957178748502011-07-17T15:14:00.000-07:002011-07-17T15:27:36.689-07:00

     We rode the bleached asphalt cradled between golden hills speckled with old oak trees and sang along to the radio despite the fuzzy reception.       "This one," I said. "It feels like love."     He smiled, “Yeah, I think so too.”     Less than a year later, when he stopped to pick up the last of his boxes, I was in the back room getting his stuff when I heard the first notes play.       I

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-81316158562457023862011-07-16T10:08:00.000-07:002011-07-16T10:08:06.375-07:00

Here in my little town that Los Angeles forgot is a tacky faux fifties diner with sticky tables, red vinyl seats and shoebox sized jukeboxes at every table.  They serve the most awesome brown cows* and the worst french fries I've ever had. After the movies or the sock hops (swing dance clubs) let out, the place is packed and the sound of the milkshake mixer is a constant layered between loud

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-25100608367994949202011-07-16T09:39:00.000-07:002011-07-16T09:39:26.078-07:00

It's a sign of contentment and sunny moments, of not rushing, not being late.  It's a carefree moment, when one of us is in the shower and forgets that the rest of the world outside awaits.  Let it wait. My son sings the Star Wars theme,  "dada dadada daaaaa da...." My husband, when he sings, often sings an old Mollystongue song, "You can't help it, you're super cool!" My song varies on my mood

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-64533011541318703092011-07-14T21:27:00.000-07:002011-07-14T21:27:01.760-07:00

I was on the floor, trying to reach for something lost under the bed when   the song stuck in my head burst from my mouth.  My boyfriend laughed.“What?” I asked.“When you started singing, I looked over.  All I saw was your butt bobbing up and down singing, ‘Hell bent, hell bent for leather!’” What story can you tell in 55 words?  Write it, post it and then go tell G-man about it!  He rocks

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-54335625955805109322011-07-14T20:15:00.000-07:002011-07-14T20:19:16.521-07:00

     At age eleven, I was infatuated with a transparent blue mechanical pencil. It was gorgeous!      Mom said I didn’t need it, but I did!       It looked like a pen, but was a pencil with refillable lead and a cute little eraser on top!     On the way home from school, I stopped in at the drug store daily, to make sure it was still there waiting for me, to make sure no one else had bought the

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-11608222620767866962011-07-13T21:56:00.000-07:002011-07-13T22:13:28.553-07:00

Today I had to take my son out of the pool during swim lessons and carry him, kicking and screaming, to the locker rooms. At first, I noticed him hanging on the edge of the pool, his face hidden in his arms, shaking his head at whatever the instructor was saying. The instructor looked towards me, so I got up to see what was the matter. The instructor was trying to convince him to try on some

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-63445526185688247172011-07-12T10:38:00.000-07:002011-07-12T12:17:01.533-07:00

Am was my ride to the cast party but was messed up before we got out of her truck.  I don't think she ever reached the door of Dee's house, spending most of the night laying on the asphalt talking 'bout the spinning stars. It was shortly after the opening of our spring play and we were all a little giddy.  Dee's family agreed to host the get together, but Dee lived in Palmdale, the town just

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-82044733805133152142011-07-11T23:51:00.000-07:002011-07-12T00:10:01.065-07:00

That's right, I go from ragtime and ska, rap and industrial to the classic rock of Lynyrd Skynyrd.  This is for day 11 of the Just Me Stranger (remix) 30 Day Music Challenge:  A song that reminds you of someone who'd rather forget you. I went to Alabama once to visit my high school sweetheart who was stationed at Fort McClellan where he played tuba for the army band. This song reminds me

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-13375406002213616272011-07-10T16:32:00.001-07:002011-07-10T19:12:40.502-07:00

In self-conscious bad form, I’d like to preface this post.   This is for the Just Me Stranger 30 Day Music Challenge.  Day 10:  A song that reminds you of someone you’d rather forget.   My memory is sharp and cruel but also beautiful and a fantastic liar, optimistic or dark depending on her mood.  I never want her wiped, not even to erase the one person who succeeded in bringing me more fear than

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-69355169502981698782011-07-09T13:06:00.000-07:002011-07-09T13:11:19.144-07:00

Remember the days When we could sleep in late? Snuggling despite our woes? Loving despite our frustration? You always said we'd be OK, And I was surprised by my own faith. Now you're gone six of seven And there's still no money Only more expenses. You say it's for us, To stay afloat, To get ahead. But? Our child is bored, hooked on TV, And the games you taught him to play. I'm the villain for

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-74375509404552049512011-07-09T11:24:00.000-07:002011-07-09T11:33:46.907-07:00

My dream home is on the market again, this time as a foreclosure.  Two years ago it was listed at over a million.  Now it's down to $660,000.  I want to get in there and restore it to it's 1910 splendor, but alas, there's no way I could afford to buy that house let alone the house plus repairs. But if I could, I'd get to work immediately. Yes, I did get to take a tour of it yesterday during a

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-81986351111252594512011-07-08T12:31:00.000-07:002011-07-08T12:49:08.938-07:00

Breakdown, American girl, (like a) refugee, a face in the crowd:Runnin’ down a dream, out in the cold, learning to fly, Free fallin’ into the great wide open.The Waiting?!  Yer so bad,  don’t do me like that!I need to know.  I’ll feel a whole lot better.Don’t  Come  Around  Here No  More.   (This FFF55/ is made from titles of Tom Petty Songs, title excluded.  That's a Traveling Wilburys song.)

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-28806004192378335212011-07-07T00:00:00.000-07:002011-07-07T00:00:36.199-07:00

Growing up in Los Angeles, I was one of the first batch of kids sent through the D.A.R.E. program.  “Just Say No” to drugs and personalized license plates, those are the messages I remember. The D.A.R.E. program was held for all the sixth graders in our school auditorium and lasted an hour each Friday.  A uniformed police officer lectured us on the perils of drug use and succumbing to peer

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-86351935878658911802011-07-06T20:18:00.000-07:002011-07-06T20:18:53.003-07:00

     We said goodbye to California at dusk, when the sun was settling down behind the hills of the California desert, leaving glowing clouds leaking light like spotlights from painted heavens on the road we travelled.      I was in love with Shy.  Knew it was love when I first saw him dancing and when I thought he must've been Hari Krshna or Buddhist or some Eastern inspired type - I had no idea

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-4587469318081771062011-07-05T21:50:00.000-07:002011-07-05T22:18:50.524-07:00

I.  Papa"I love to go swimmin' with bowlegged women and swim between their knees.If you know any ladies that want to have babies, then send them down to me, for this is the day we give away babies with half a pound of cheese..."- author unknown Papa was my favorite swim buddy because he taught me how to cannonball, how to jackknife, how to flip into the pool and how to hold on tight while

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-53283918996273155292011-07-04T09:09:00.000-07:002011-07-04T10:15:09.150-07:00

Response to the Just Me Stranger Music Challenge (remix), Day 4 prompt:  A song that makes you sad. Is a story or my commentary really necessary for this one?  I suppose this is truly bad form, but I'm not yet ready to write about that once upon a time long long ago.    For now, I want to let the song stand on its own. Now it's your turn:  What song makes you sad?  I'd love to have you

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-34459879096457183302011-07-03T23:50:00.000-07:002011-07-04T00:59:47.819-07:00

Tomorrow is the big holiday here - Fireworks have been exploding all around us all week, sounding like gunshots and explosions, just as though we were in the center of a war zone, or Disneyland at closing.  I feel awful for admitting this, but I wish I had something stronger than Tylenol or Advil for this headache that seems to get worse every night, just to help me smile through another busy

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-19233029877178567152011-07-02T21:30:00.000-07:002011-07-03T19:29:08.351-07:00

Feel that tickle whole body smiledrowns me in bear hug lovedork dances atop picnic tablesdip belowdaytime starscrazy dreamnaive loverbest friendBliss Want to make me happy even when I'd rather drown in dreary blues? Play this song. These adorable twins may've ruined love (songs) for all the other boys (especially the ones with 20/20). Then this song was featured in Benny & Joon.  That

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-41284389540590362632011-07-02T00:01:00.000-07:002011-07-02T00:01:05.474-07:00

Please don't tell anyone. Really. I know better, I do. But I love it anyway. I know. It's wrong! It's weird. I can't help it. It's hilarious and stupid And yet twisted and (sh!) strangely arousing (is that just me?  Is this just more evidence proving freakishness?) (is freakishness a word?) I'm not proud to admit this I want to hate this song, I want to, but? ...but, I dig this song.

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-76426389077370040272011-07-01T18:28:00.000-07:002011-07-01T22:41:49.557-07:00

Prologue: HIM: You almost done?  We should think about dinner. ME: I'm writing about the proposal. HIM: What proposal? ME:  Ours HIM: You're not going to tell them about the proposal. ME:  I wasn't going to mention the details, if that's what you're asking.  But I did mention the sex. HIM:  What?  Why? ME:  I'm supposed to write about a song that I'm supposed to love, but don't.

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-27207779236423299812011-06-30T18:54:00.000-07:002011-06-30T19:20:25.319-07:00

Because hollow hides under layers like his voice replays grief like Gideon’s joke hidden in drawers beside every false shelter.This is a  revolt Against longing cemented to my tongue, choking over temporary restraints gone martial. Still raging, still grieving, Stranger, unreliable narratorstill seeks flakes from gypsies drinking music on unmade beds between trains. Day 30 of the 30 Day

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-51589832058370415112011-06-29T19:00:00.000-07:002011-06-29T19:00:00.976-07:00

*This was on the end of my previous blog post but felt it fit better in a post of its own. **  The month and the music challenge is almost over, but do not fret, friends.  Just Me and I had so much fun playing the 30 Day Music Challenge that we've teamed up for our own remix version.  We replaced some of the original prompts with ones we would rather answer and read about.   It starts on July 1st

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-33044418737108212492011-06-29T15:16:00.000-07:002011-06-29T18:25:11.230-07:00

I was eight or nine when I got my first ghetto blaster (it was actually a single speaker cassette player just like the one Data from Goonies would possess a year or two later) and my first tapes were Cyndi Lauper's She's So Unusual and Madonna's debut.  But Cyndi's was my favorite. I woke up to play that cassette tape and went to bed with it playing.  She Bop was the song that I loved most, only

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-32905097678163982952011-06-28T10:48:00.000-07:002011-06-28T10:58:39.018-07:00

She called my house a few times asking for some one else, some guy. Although I recognized her voice, I didn’t say, “Hey, AJ.  I think you’ve got my number with the wrong name.”I considered it, but I was annoyed that she didn’t recognize my voice.  We used to talk all the time!  My resentment grew when she continued to call despite my telling her she was calling the wrong number.       I wonder if

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-22819249061458565522011-06-27T13:29:00.000-07:002011-06-27T13:29:23.804-07:00

Did you know that I can play didgeridoo?  (My circular breathing is out of practice though). Traditionally, only men are supposed to play, but I'm not a tradition kinda girl.  Unfortunately,  I don't know any "songs" for it.  Bird sounds, yes.  I suppose I could sing some simple songs through buzzing-didj' lips.  But not really.   I took a guitar class in college and was able to play House of

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-75147646273285655352011-06-26T09:10:00.000-07:002011-06-26T09:10:32.331-07:00

Tequila toasts in shot glass souvenirs. Kids chase dancing ghosts while parents cry over their own weddings now nothing more than photographs and boxed dreams. Last night, I went to a gorgeous wedding aboard the Queen Mary and enjoyed visiting (and drinking) with old friends. I started drinking water after the tequila toasts because I didn't want to regret the morning. Thankfully, I

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-7229988501828687852011-06-25T11:05:00.000-07:002011-06-25T11:10:01.899-07:00

     He was a long hair computer geek boy in an OC "rock" band driving a Subaru Outback with rockclimbing gear stickers already cracking on the back window. The license plate was framed with "I'd rather be Rock Climbing" and the seats crevices often hid guitar picks and quarters. He played alternative music, made CD mixes called "Girls with Guitars" and played psuedo-bubblegum punk at dive bars.

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-22375191158225690672011-06-23T17:00:00.000-07:002011-06-23T17:23:48.863-07:00

Like a fever in years, I want to reach 102.When I’m ready, I’ll meet forever sleep halfway.Join me for a beach party, send me off in flames & ash.  Drink my booze!  Eat my food!Bring your sins & dance around my pyre like little nymphs & demons summoning mischief.You’re all invited.Play this song. Got a story to tell in 55 words? You don't need to wait for an invitation, just show up at

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-3073060267309154882011-06-23T10:31:00.000-07:002011-06-23T11:51:12.360-07:00

The song started and I heard my youngest sister, Beth, whisper, “That’s me! That's my voice.”She was my maid of honor, she's my best friend.  And that is her voice singing, recorded one night in our bathroom when my husband wanted to try out some new recording software he installed on his computer.  We squeezed her into the tiny bathroom with the microphone stand and the handwritten lyrics (taped

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-17983067152039448212011-06-22T20:00:00.000-07:002011-06-22T20:01:39.206-07:00

At the Taco Bell drive-thru, I looked at her and could see her eyes were no longer seeing and it took all her energy to hear my voice. "You're dying, aren't you, "I said.  It was a revelation to me although everyone else had known for quite sometime. She nodded and tears, so rarely shed by her, reached her eyes. "I'm sorry," I said. "Me too." We brought the take out tacos and burritos home

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-50257496139409714412011-06-21T07:00:00.000-07:002011-06-21T07:00:02.026-07:00

It may just be my happy place.   When you hear the Squirrel Nut Zippers tell it, Hell sounds great! (As long as you don't pay attention to the lyrics!) Too bad WMG is strict with the copyright and won't let anyone post the original audio of the song even when they give proper credit on their videos/postings.  *sigh*    That's ok, this video reminded me of yet another hot banjo player - the

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-4014688335020792142011-06-20T22:57:00.000-07:002011-06-20T23:47:18.926-07:00

1993-1995 (From when I was 18 to 20 years of age), I had a lot to be angry about.  Those were the days I was also big into the punk, straightedge, hardcore, and industrial music scenes. If you've been reading, you've already got some of my history from those days, but I'll sum up real quick:  Mom was in and out of rehab, only to relapse and disappear again. When she was in rehab, I was visiting

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-759867257203458122011-06-19T17:47:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:49:23.380-07:00

I'm still a little embarrassed to admit this, but I asked for a banjo for my birthday. "What would you do with a banjo?" my mom asked. "Well, the boys have their guitars and all I have is my didgeridoo.  I think it'd be cool to learn to play the banjo," I said. "Are you really serious?" she asked.  "Why?" I told her about William Elliott Whitmore and then reminded her about the end scene with

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-31608950582625257742011-06-19T15:07:00.000-07:002011-06-19T15:33:26.992-07:00

Last weekend, I had the pleasure of watching Submarine at the local Art House movie theater. My husband sent me the theatrical trailer before the film was released here in the states because he said he knew it'd be my kind of movie. Guess I'm fairly predictable.  Give me a love story with an adorably awkward (quirky) boy (wearing a dark oversized wool coat is a plus) and make the love interest

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-42598061222384171732011-06-17T18:51:00.000-07:002011-06-17T18:57:34.553-07:00

That songcute funny when I first heard it over two (was it three?) years ago.But now?On the radioStill (AGAIN?)As though no other song has been releasedOr no other song’s worth playing.But it lost its cute factorEven for my son, who screams the chorusbut now sounds bored. (It's actually really cute, even still, when my son sings the song.  This is the first time we've seen the video. Didn't

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-86890028900202021182011-06-16T11:11:00.000-07:002011-06-16T11:11:21.315-07:00

Just Me at Is That a Promise or a Threat said it best here. I know becoming me required a lot of experimenting.  I needed to figure out what didn't fit me before I could figure out what did. In junior high, mostly I wanted to fit in with everyone else.  2 Live Crew and NWA were the big groups to love back then.  And the more derogatory towards women and sex, the better the song. Like Just Me,

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-79867086157760324582011-06-15T00:01:00.000-07:002011-06-15T00:01:03.190-07:00

*** Day 15, the halfway point of the 30 Day Music Challenge*****A song that describes me. **

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-52771566199074559592011-06-14T11:12:00.000-07:002011-06-14T11:16:40.937-07:00

If I told you I was once in clown school, would that be unexpected? It's true.  I was 13 and after the second week, I was promoted to assistant teacher to the preschool clowns.  A few months later we put on our first show in full makeup and costume for a crowd of strangers who laughed at us when we weren't trying to be funny. When you put an overly-dramatic thirteen year old, who prefers

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-31477065472452988192011-06-13T00:01:00.000-07:002011-06-13T00:01:00.245-07:00

I was 15 almost 16 when I attended a performing arts high school in Los Angeles (it's known as a music academy, but us drama nerds resented the lack of reference to us).   If any of you watched the television show Parker Lewis Can't Lose, you'd have seen my school.  Weekly the campus would be swarming with 30 year olds playing high schoolers.   It's true - I'm a recovering drama geek.   The bus

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-7572292414052068652011-06-12T00:01:00.000-07:002011-06-12T10:16:11.232-07:00

Hate is a pretty powerful word. Just as I try to avoid picking a favorite anything, I try to avoid labeling anything with my hate. But no one enjoys reading a hateless liar and so I must confess that I hate a band that, according to Wikipedia, is ranked third behind The Beatles and Rolling Stones in record sales. (please tell me that record is misleading. What are the ratios of sales to albums

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-35482298592417086282011-06-11T13:47:00.000-07:002011-06-11T13:47:55.617-07:00

 Today I'm supposed to share a song from my favorite band.   ugh. I dread these types of prompts more than the others.  I avoid playing favorites - meaning, I'm indecisive and commitment phobic.  I've had bad experiences when I have to choose just one thing and label it the one and only. So, I'll share two songs from two musicians I consider among my permanent loves. Although both belong to

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-85269590697599344462011-06-10T18:34:00.000-07:002011-06-11T14:14:43.169-07:00

He was colic, I was used to the crying.   But in the car it was different.  It was shrieking, it was screaming until he was choking on his own sobs.  I'd stop the car, climb in back and comfort him, get back in the driver's seat and start the engine only for his screams to restart too.  I'd tried calming music, I'd installed a mirror so he could see me, a toy with lights and music, I'd tried

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-90852834647150231622011-06-09T22:11:00.000-07:002011-06-09T22:11:00.942-07:00

Francis, I literally cannot look at you! You’ve gone too far this time.Ok. You are right. Now you can look no where but up. But why would you do something so disturbing just to prove me wrong? Look at what you have done!  Oh, love,  you’d cut off your nose to spite your face! Today's post is a 2fer! A Magpie in 55 words. Thanks Willow and G-man for the inspiration!(Blame/Credit Willow/

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-49983687429834075072011-06-09T00:01:00.000-07:002011-06-09T10:12:49.408-07:00

Perfect timing!  My dance partner is officially on summer vacation and this summer is his last before he starts the big K, so we've got it make it a special one. The two of us love to dance and we'll dance to almost anything.  Last year we were on a big Portishead kick.  The year before he was all over Muse.  But this year we're back to some of our earliest loves:  horns, walking bass lines

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-46614807165923915272011-06-08T13:17:00.000-07:002011-06-08T13:20:14.009-07:00

Day 8 of the 30 day music challenge: A song that I know all the words to. Just one?    There's the song that had all the f-words in the chorus and the f-word actually referred to (((!!!sex!!!))) and when I sing it, the F word comes out louder than all the others. Then there's the song that I like despite not wanting to.  The one my husband said, "Oh, here's a song within your range."  But I still

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-27232202107822172982011-06-07T14:37:00.000-07:002011-06-07T14:39:42.307-07:00

I had only heard of the local band Smile once before meeting my husband, T.  That was from a girl I worked with at the tutoring center.  She was this tall, beautiful creature from the Heights who got all fangirl when she talked about the band from Orange County, California.  But she never did let me hear their stuff.  So T was the first to play their album Girl Crushes Boy the night we were

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-81223449373731485722011-06-06T13:44:00.000-07:002011-06-06T18:09:40.850-07:00

This is supposed to be about a song that reminds me of somewhere, but this song has two potent place memories where the somewhere is taking me some place.  I hope you enjoy the ride. This is a story is about my old ’66 VW.  I didn’t want the car.  Ever since growing up with a pseudo-hippie Mom and her 1968 VW bus that left us stranded more than not, I had a strong prejudice against all

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-60464315892045459552011-06-05T16:49:00.000-07:002011-06-05T17:06:24.317-07:00

Late 1991 or early 1992: "Don't you get it," Jamie said.  "Polly wants a cracker, like a parrot. But she's a girl and so he's got to get off her first." She laughed, thinking this best joke ever.  She thought I'd find it hilarious too, especially since I was the fan of Nirvana. "Yeah, I get it," I said. "Cause Polly's a girl's name," she said.  "But also a bird!" More laughing. "Yep," I

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-42177625104689164932011-06-05T10:45:00.000-07:002011-06-05T10:46:51.519-07:00

Photo Credit: Duncraft's Blog Damn birds like rebellious teens mocking me Breaching the bird net devouring all my berries then leaving, Flashing arrogant white stripes like middle fingers. The truth is, I admire those mockingbirds.  They'll chase and harass crows twice their size and will dive bomb me when I chase them away from my apples and berries.  They are ruthless to the squirrels

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-5473992306480466782011-06-04T18:19:00.000-07:002011-06-04T18:19:16.160-07:00

The three of us (husband, kiddo and I) have our picnic dinner, our blanket and our anticipation. Tonight we're going to see Star Wars in concert at the Hollywood Bowl. It's my son's first concert and that's why I'm excited. Now, we're just waiting for the sun to set or the show to begin - whichever comes first.

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-13011182702251985962011-06-04T11:01:00.000-07:002011-06-04T11:01:58.615-07:00

This is my day 4 post of the 30 day music challenge:  a song that makes me sad.  

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-73916572900976906362011-06-03T14:10:00.000-07:002011-06-03T17:40:48.791-07:00

We all have our tragedies, stories, experiences that changed us.  Some get them early on, some don’t realize the tragedy until their grandchildren are sitting at their feet asking for stories of the olden days, and some create it because it’s addicting and it feels good to destroy things when you realize you’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel.For the past two days I’ve shared some more of my

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-83526381242474934292011-06-02T16:00:00.001-07:002011-06-03T15:14:22.784-07:00

Will I accept the charge?  Who is calling me from the county jail?The problem is, it’s a local jail and it could be anyone.But there’s only a few from whom I’d take the call.Dad, is that you?All day I wondered, amused, how that conversation would go."Hello, Daughter, I'm in Jail!" ... Maybe the boys from Was Not Was can get on that? Got a story to tell in 55 words or less?  Go tell G-man about

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-66399112895433480792011-06-02T12:06:00.000-07:002011-06-02T12:24:11.395-07:00

Day 2 of the 30 Day Music challenge is my least favorite song: The only shiny happy people in my world were my mom and all her new friends doing lines on our bathroom counters or smoking meth in our garage.  She'd fuck weird assholes downstairs on the couch, screaming out her approval while my sisters and I were trying to sleep.  Then her stupid boyfriends lingered all day and leered at us

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-65912909101346366532011-06-01T22:46:00.000-07:002011-06-01T23:08:12.645-07:00

Hello everybody!  I'm playing follower to Just Me's lead and this is my day one of the 30 day Music Challenge.  That means that not only do I have to explore my brain pudding for music memories, but I also have to post every single day for the next thirty days - something I've never done before.  So, wish me luck, forgive my sins in syntax and let's get started: You probably know the song - it's

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-15769461736204823442011-06-01T12:27:00.000-07:002011-06-01T23:01:26.010-07:00

The afterbirth like rapepurple pulp yankedplacenta refusing to detach“Shit, she’s hemorrhaging,” bounced off wallslike swelling sirenswhile my perfect newborn with ten toes and ten fingerstwo eyes, a nose, two lips, two ears, two arms and two long legs and strong lungs screamed for mefrom across the roomwhile my husband sent texts and pictures via cellphone to people who shouldn’t have mattered

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-1215678885101535002011-05-27T15:04:00.000-07:002011-05-28T08:18:39.627-07:00

Sleepy mama lets her kid get an extra large dose of TV and Wii. I blamed my allergies, but chills and coughing ruined that diagnosis. I've got deadlines and dates, a holiday weekend to play - but I'm dragging my ass around, lethargic, pouty faced, still not ready to admit that this mama is sick. (again?!)

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-11992693311145063002011-05-25T12:05:00.000-07:002011-06-01T23:04:10.457-07:00

In case you were curious, each blue chalk X on that wall marks a spot for buried treasure. Problem is that we haven't found a way to dig through block walls yet.

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-65054069276571678732011-05-21T22:32:00.000-07:002011-05-21T22:32:31.032-07:00

Rumor is that the CEO took time off of playing God to attend C's birthday bash & hit the moonshine hard & the floor harder. That's a rapture he'll soon regret. Hey, that's just the rumor I heard. What's true is that Just Me over at Is That a Promise or a Threat had a birthday that coincided with the end of the world. Of course the end of the world rescheduled - not even rapture can compete

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-48881859355226287452011-05-20T11:17:00.000-07:002012-01-16T12:03:23.314-08:00

And here's my official 55 for this week: It weighs less than the blue or green light sabers, that’s my son’s excuse for preferring to fight for the Rebel Alliance using the red light saber (reserved for the evil Sith Lords).   Tiger Jr., however, cannot wield light sabers.  That doesn’t prevent the little squirrel from attacking the Sith’s weapon with his sharp teeth.   Jedi Squirrel  Tiger

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-29954571520384132312011-05-20T10:58:00.000-07:002011-05-20T18:37:20.906-07:00

This was last week's Friday 55, but due to the Blogger crash, it was never posted.  So, here it is.  Probably better that it never made it on the 55 list, I don't want everyone seeing how goofy giddy I am in the photo.  :) It started with Diggin’ My Grave.No, it started with the Mutiny in Seattle, but his name was lost under my best friend’s bourbon tongue.  So, it started with that grave in

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-91718926704175601512011-05-11T12:29:00.000-07:002011-05-11T15:18:41.659-07:00

(Forgive me, this is unedited.  If I wait to revise it, it'll never get shared.  That seems to be my habit lately and so this blog goes weeks with no new posts.  Besides, I feel like the worst writer in the world when I'm rereading and trying to edit my writing for public consumption.) Mom's family didn't have many traditions.  We didn't do Christmas dinners, we didn't even do Christmas - we got

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-68078467791452024572011-04-24T09:59:00.000-07:002011-04-24T10:09:38.809-07:00

Rebirth, bunnies & fertility symbols be damned. Stop your sex-seeking kisses. Take your greedy hands off my tits. What you call love feels desperate like abuse. A Sunday 160.

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-69227422090782362922011-04-14T16:22:00.000-07:002011-04-14T17:54:14.941-07:00

There’re many who’ll freak over a snake.  Not me.  But put flying cockroaches on my mirror, Scorpions on my ceiling, or Ants in my peanut butter; Watch the Japanese beetles divebomb my hair; Put hairy spiders in porch rafters, or Black widows in the garage, & then laughas I jump, shriek, run and hide.----In honor of this week’s 55, I'd like to offer film tributes (and very possible causes) for my

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-59434458309196233362011-04-13T18:25:00.000-07:002011-04-13T20:46:15.151-07:00

My son read the entire collection of Dick & Jane stories.  I'm excited that he loves reading.  (Woohoo! He LOVES reading!)  And now I cannot stop hearing his voice read, "Oh, oh, oh," with great emotion.  I think that was the part of the story where Baby Sally lost Tim, her Teddy Bear.  My little reader! Most of the seeds we planted sprouted.  A possum ate our nearly ripe strawberry.  It's the

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6899111861329180736.post-16839836015293393002011-04-13T17:05:00.000-07:002011-04-14T13:38:37.442-07:00

Note:  Here's another post resurrected/reposted after being condemned to the dead drafts bin.  This repost is thanks to my friend Steve Isaak (from Reading and Writing by Publight and Microstory a Week) who caught it yesterday afternoon before I removed it and then took the time to email me about it.  He made me rethink my original assessment - maybe it doesn't suck that bad.  Thanks for the

Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09740116535206060176noreply@blogger.com1