Her Blackheartedness

Fishing at Frog Alley. Unfortunately patience is one thing Lola has a shortage of so we ended up catching frogs, tadpoles and some sun instead.

You can't see her prize very well but it's a tadpole. Her "babeeee frog."

The Fox River is full of pollution. Good Mummy that I am, I let my pretty little gal play in it...but I have been checking to make sure she isn't growing any extra extremities.

Lo took a face plant practically INTO THE BEAR PIT less than a millisecond after this shot was taken. Notice the hungry bears searching for food in the background? They would have eaten my baby! Ahh, still my beating, panicky heart, everything turned out ok, she merely fell into the bushes and got a brusied nose. But still...

My child loves meat. Yuck.

Lola's getup for a wedding, along with a wedding duck.

Have Brick, Willing to Bash Heads In

I heard a conversation a short while ago that sounded something like this:

Asshole 1: The moment the US started caring about countries is when we started going downhill, Iraq has terrorists in it. The correct response should be to bomb the whole country. If civilians die, who cares? The cost of war, man.

Asshole 2: Yeah, I mean, that's how wars are won.

Me, in my head because really? why bother...: Ever heard of Just War Theory you dumbfuck? Like we need to be hated MORE by the rest of the world for blanket-bombing an entire country indiscriminately. Oh yeah, and ever heard of Timothy McVeigh? The US has terrorists in it too, are civilians still fair game?

Honestly, I am all for free speech but sometimes I wish that to qualify for it, there had to be some sort of IQ test. Or maybe a wait-time, like for buying a gun. Stupid, stupid....

Oh Me Oh My, Back With a Vengeance

Guess who just got reminded that she has a blog and should be recording some of the crazy shit that's been happening? Yes, I admit, I've been a horrible blogger and I don't even have the blackblog-screen of death to blame this time around. Instead, I blame it on laziness and sheer complacency.

So dear friends, since I'm obsessed with words, let's to the dictionary:

Main Entry:
com·pla·cen·cy
Pronunciation:
\-sən(t)-sē\
Function:
noun
Inflected Form(s):
plural com·pla·cen·cies
Date:
1650
1 : self-satisfaction especially when accompanied by unawareness of actual dangers or deficiencies

Now, when I think of complacency, I see a cute little mouse on the forest floor, happily nibbling away at whatever the hell mice eat, fruit? Let's just say fruit. This is mouse is happy, she found her snack through the judicious use of her senses, through perseverance and luck. She's congratulating itself of a job well-done when
WHAM!
the snake that had been creeping up behind it strikes. The mouse doesn't have time to be scared, it's just shocked, amazed, a tad resigned and mostly annoyed that it wasn't allowed to finish it's last meal.

This story has two purposes:
1. This is the reason I don't feed my snake live mice. I can empathize with the mouse far easier than my snake.
2. This is a parable (albeit a bad one) for my recent topsy-turvy switcheroo-shenanigans. Ummm, I am the mouse.

Since this situation is long, complex and I'm at work (shhh.) I'm going to be general but details will eventually arise since I'm full of a new determination to keep this blog going. This blog is a perfect arena of introspection and could have served as the eyes in the back of my head, which would've saved that stupid mouse/me from this situation. Right? Because if the mouse could see the snake coming... (Wow, this analogy is getting worse)

Nesto = my hard-won, sweet, sweet fruit.
Again, I am the mouse.
One of the few men that made me cry in high school, let's name him Tom- the snake.

I finally get Nesto, I enjoy him immensely. I feel all butterflies-romance-giggles-orgasms. I'm behaving myself, minding my own damn business when I go to find a buddy of mine across the bar and he's in deep conversation with someone. I'm thinking, "awww, Ryan found a friend," as I slide into the booth across from them, look up and nearly lose my bottom jaw/bladder control.

WHAM!

It's the snake, Tom.

Wow, Tom was/is my ideal. Huger-than-huge crush on this man, lost to me forever through a woman I also thought was hot. Come home. Sitting across from me. Smiling.

SHIT.

The rest they say is history. I went on the prowl, caught me a Tom and now I'm in a pickle. But y'know what? This is the best pickle I've ever had, way better than Claussens, a muthafuckin' pickle sammich!

We'll see where this goes?

**Disclaimer: I am not using snake with any intention of conveying the traits of sneakiness, "slipperiness," or any other negative connotations. I happen to be a huge fan of snakes, both named Tom and otherwise.**

Disasters Are Relative

I sure was cursing the weather gods today when I awoke because there was a layer of snow on the rooftops.

Now, I'm cursing myself for thinking this was such a big deal. My mother just called me with the news that my grandma is in the hospital. The matriarch of our clan, 94 with class and sass, not invincible.

Ok, let's all stop for a "DUH, Etta!" moment. She's going to be 95 in May, most people don't make it that old, it's going to happen sometime. I've half-joked about being the one that Grandma is going to croak on and I've envisioned buying her house after she's gone, but really imagining her gone? That's flat-out impossible, she's too fucking set in her ways to actually die and I'm not ready at all.

That's it, I'm not ready, so it can't happen. Sounds good right? Let's see how it works.

Feeling Fine

I absolutely adore being alone and fucked up. I sit quietly smoking cigarettes (!) and reflect on the weather, the city nightlife, my state of mind, my relationships and problems. I let myself laugh aloud at myself. The neighbors might think I'm nuts, but damn does it feel good. Due to the f'ed up part, neither time, weather, state of dress or undress or typical day to day problems impede on my mind. I just hang out...with myself.

I had one of these nights on Saturday and I feel better, clearer for it. These are my mind vacations, all for the affordable price of one cheap bottle of red wine. A deal if I must say so myself. (My preferred poison is either Yellowtail Merlot or Ecco Domani Merlot but it was Purple Moon Shiraz this time around.)

I went to Nesto's house, got cozy with him and apparently wore the poor guy out because he was out cold. While I was lying next to him, a light bulb flamed on, here it was, time for a mind vacation! I used the sneaky bed-exiting skills I've perfected on Lola, grabbed my wine, cigarettes and Nesto's leather jacket and headed for the porch. Sitting on wet chair, wearing a jacket sans anything else, I drank my wine and smiled at my mini revelations.

Here's a few I came across: Although I don't endorse slaughter of animals, certainly don't eat meat and probably never will again, I do like the weight of a good leather jacket.

Wisconsin springs are like a breath of fresh fucking air after WI winters. My Louisiana family was in town complaining of the chill while I was sighing with relief at the amazing lack of snow while half-nekked. Hooray.

I really like Nesto. Example of cuteness: He "raises" his own tomato plants from seeds and then transfers them to his backyard. Then, when his scandalous neighbors steal the fruit of his labor, he acknowledges the fact that "they're really good," and this seems to be an acceptable excuse for the thievery.

And finally: polishing off a bottle of wine by yourself on an empty stomach? Always a good thing. I feel fine.

Ode to Royboy

I've been meaning to create a post to Roy for awhile now and today (you lucky bastards) is the day.

Roy is my BFF, a title which I actually introduce him to others as. Yeah, I get weird looks and disdainful half-grins from people, secretly thinking: "did she seriously just say that?" And you know what? I don't care. I'm not ashamed to introduce this man in all his charm and sheer audacious asshole-ness as my Best Friend 4Eva.


And the lame part about it, I've heard him introduce me the same way. Gag.


Roy and I started out enemies on the high school bus. I dreaded riding this bus because I know he was going to start some shit and I would be obligated to end it. He was a racist, sexist, pompous, Republican asshole and I hated his fucking guts. (I believe that may be a direct quote from a note passed in Econ.)


Anyway, we had mutual friends and I learned that he was really rich. Like, really rich. And this scored in his favor, not in the ususal way that "really rich" scores points, but in the manner that you would never in a million years know that Roy is rich from his demeanor. He dressed (and still does) like a hick from the sticks, drove a shitty old Ford Aerostar van that was maroon and smelled of chickens and expired dog food and never even mentioned money.


Eventually we put aside our animosity over underage keg parties and our mutual love of animals and founded a rock-solid friendship in between bong rips and attending traumatic funerals .

Roy is still an asshole, but he's slowly recovering. His sexism and racism rarely show their unwelcome faces (at least around me because I'll rip his head off...) but he's my counterpart in all the ways that count.


This is the guy who hears it all, who knows the best and the worst of me. We disagree on just about everything but we do it with love. My confidante who hangs out with me, hears my stories, makes fun of me so much I just want to kill him...and then do it all over again next weekend.

When people mention a sexual connection between us, I get offended and angry. How dare they besmirch our relationship with such a base desire?! Who the fuck do they think they are? And do they know who we are? We are Etta and Roy, a fabulous heterosexual, non-sexual life partnership.

So readers, consider this post a giant glass of your favorite stuff and please join me in raising it to Royboy, my BFF.

It's My Birthday and I'll Barf If I Want To

I've been a real homebody lately. Lola, books, Nesto, I've been reveling in the three of them. I definitely go through streaks in which I prefer to be alone, to be quiet, to listen to myself think. When Lola isn't yapping, that is. Along with this hermit inclination, I consciously decided to exercise regularly, eat healthy-ish and abstain from my nightly glass of wine.

The first two are pretty self-explanatory, I want to look nice and feel nice. The wine though, ahhhh, I LOVE WINE. Cheap wine. Dry, red wine. Yummmmmm.... When I found myself actually wishing I could have a glass of wine for breakfast before work though, I decided to lay off the sauce for awhile. And it's worked out well, I feel good about it.

Well, today is my birthday. And last night I was due to go out with my Wednesday night pals, Roy and Meg. Royboy bailed on me, go figure but Meg and I got saucy.

After some Celtic Crossing shots and during bar dice I remembered the problem with drinking after a hiatus. Those limits I was so comfortable with, the limits I had meticulously researched during my late teen years in a journal dedicated specifically to my limits...had dropped. DRASTICALLY.

So, I ended up giving myself an intimate encounter with the Porcelain God for my birthday...twice.

Being hungover on your birthday should be impossible along with getting sick while pregnant. I guess I could thank my lucky stars I am neither sick nor pregnant but I'm too fucking hungover.

So wise am I in my 24 years.

A Corporate Crossroads

So, my bossman just offered me a salary. Like, a raise with security. For him and me (?)

I've been entertaining the idea that I'd be leaving this job soon. A veni, vidi, vici sort of a thing. When I arrived, I was suprised the company was still in business: how do you track how much each job costs you? I got a Scoobie Doo-like "Ruuoughr?" as an answer. Yikes. Ok, said I, where are your old tax documents? Blank stares. Oh brother.

I enjoyed the challenge, I bullied the guys into organization and obsured myself amongst stormclouds of flying paper. I felt guilty and naughty as I disposed of garbage cans full of old, pointless-to-keep marketing materials on the sly. I white-boarded the walls, file cabineted the hallway, hanging foldered everything. I also attempted to keep the kitchen clean, the fridge free of moldy, forgotten lunches, the bathrooms stocked up on air freshener.

Now, the company has a system. If I was really determined, I could write out directions step by step and someone could do my job, day to day. After awhile, as long as they aren't a complete moron, they'd be able to take care of any suprises not on the list, and then they'd be me.

I guess I'm saying that I'm bored. The challenge has been neutralized with effectiveness and I've been mentally preparing myself for a change. Bookstore! Cheesecake baker! Something else!

But, the worry of the stability of such of job worries me. My favorite bookstore just closed after decades in the business and the cheesecake store is opening up in downtown Menomonee Falls, a veritable death sentence for any small business brave enough to open it's doors within county lines. I must work, my job is cushy and now as permanent as jobs go, if I want it...

But I'm so frickin' bored and I can feel myself getting dumber every time I answer the phone in my faux-cheerful "work voice."

What do I do?

Ahhh, Good Ol' Iowa

What fabulous news on a fabulous Friday. Three cheers for Iowa!

Iowa Supreme Court legalizes gay marriage


By AMY LORENTZEN, Associated Press Writer Amy Lorentzen, Associated Press Writer – 48 mins ago

DES MOINES, Iowa – Iowa's Supreme Court legalized gay marriage Friday in a unanimous and emphatic decision that makes Iowa the third state — and first in the nation's heartland — to allow same-sex couples to wed.
I
owa joins only Massachusetts and Connecticut in permitting same-sex marriage. For six months last year, California's high court allowed gay marriage before voters banned it in November.

The Iowa justices upheld a lower-court ruling that rejected a state law restricting marriage to a union between a man and woman.
The county attorney who defended the law said he would not seek a rehearing. The only recourse for opponents appeared to be a constitutional amendment, which could take years to ratify.

"We are firmly convinced the exclusion of gay and lesbian people from the institution of civil marriage does not substantially further any important governmental objective," the Supreme Court wrote.
Iowa lawmakers have "excluded a historically disfavored class of persons from a supremely important civil institution without a constitutionally sufficient justification."

To issue any other decision, the justices said, "would be an abdication of our constitutional duty."

The Iowa attorney general's office said gay and lesbian couples can seek marriage licenses starting April 24, once the ruling is considered final.

"Iowa is about justice, and that's what happened here today," said Laura Fefchak, who awaited the decision at a party in the Des Moines suburb of Urbandale.

Her partner of 13 years, Nancy Robinson, added: "To tell the truth, I didn't think I'd see this day."

Des Moines attorney Dennis Johnson, who argued on behalf of gay and lesbian couples, said "this is a great day for civil rights in Iowa."
"We have all of you courageous plaintiffs to thank: Go get married, live happily ever after, live the American dream," he said.

In its decision, the Supreme Court upheld an August 2007 decision by a judge who found that a state law limiting marriage to a man and a woman violates the constitutional rights of equal protection.

The Polk County attorney's office claimed that Judge Robert Hanson's ruling violated the separation of powers and said the issue should be left to the Legislature.

The case had been working its way through the courts since 2005, when Lambda Legal, a New York-based gay rights organization, filed a lawsuit on behalf of six gay and lesbian couples in Iowa.

The Supreme Court noted that any new distinction based on sexual orientation "would be equally suspect and difficult to square" with the state's constitution.

John Logan, a sociology professor at Brown University, said Iowa's status as a largely rural, Midwest state could enforce an argument that gay marriage is no longer a fringe issue.

"When it was only California and Massachusetts, it could be perceived as extremism on the coasts and not related to core American values.

"But as it extends to states like Iowa, and as attitudes toward gay marriage have evidently changed, then people will look at it as an example of broad acceptance," Logan said. Polk County Attorney John Sarcone said his office will not ask for the case to be reconsidered.

"Our Supreme Court has decided it, and they make the decision as to what the law is, and we follow Supreme Court decisions," Sarcone said.
Gay marriage opponents have no other legal options to appeal the case to the state or federal level because they were not parties to the lawsuit, and there is no federal issue raised in the case, Sarcone said.

Bryan English, spokesman for the Iowa Family Policy Center, a conservative group that opposes same-sex marriage, said many Iowans are disappointed with the ruling and do not want courts to decide the issue.

"I would say the mood is one of mourning right now in a lot of ways," English said. He said the group immediately began lobbying legislators "to let the people of Iowa vote" on a constitutional amendment.

"This is an issue that will define (lawmakers') leadership. This is not a side issue."

Iowa has a history of being in the forefront on social issues. It was among the first states to legalize interracial marriage and to allow married women to own property. It was also the first state to admit a woman to the bar to practice law and was a leader in school desegregation.
Todd Pettys, a University of Iowa law professor, said the state's equal protection clause on which Friday's ruling was based is worded slightly differently than the U.S. Constitution. But Iowa's language means almost "exactly the same thing."

Still, he said, it's difficult to predict whether the U.S. Supreme Court would view the issue the same way as the Iowa justices. Linda McClain, professor at Boston University School of Law, said she doubted Iowa's ruling would be "a realistic blueprint" for the U.S. Supreme Court," particularly considering the court's conservative leadership.
Senate Majority Leader Mike Gronstal, a Democrat, said state lawmakers were unlikely to consider gay marriage legislation in this legislative session, which is expected to end within weeks.

Gronstal also said he's "not inclined" to propose a constitutional amendment during next year's session.
Iowa's Democratic governor, Chet Culver, said he would review the decision before announcing his views.
___
Associated Press writers Nigel Duara in Urbandale and Marco Santana, Melanie S. Welte, Michael Crumb and Mike Glover in Des Moines contributed to this report.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090403/ap_on_re_us/iowa_gay_marriage

Beautiful, beautiful butterflies!

Sigh, trying not to smile...failed.

The butterflies are back. I thought the butterflies might have been killed off entirely by the tired Tee debacle but they are back, full swing. Despite the fact that Nesto is from a patriarchal culture that feels the need to suffocate, I mean, "take care of" it's women, despite the fact that there's his ex that wants me crucified, despite Tee's passive-aggressive sabotage at every turn...I've got the muthafuckin' butterflies.

Saturday: We went to one bar, I was hit upon while Nesto was in the bathroom and he was very gracious in getting rid of the dude, appreciated. At the next bar, El Rodeo, I tried some Mexican dances, but mostly ended up stepping on his feet. I ended up running into a guy I know (in a basement bar on the South side of Milwaukee where I speak the same language as maybe one in seven people), but left in a hurry as a group of guys wanted to pound Nesto into tortilla dough because he picked my sweatshirt off the floor! Not so cool. (It was a "disrespect" thing. Also known as: find someone you want to start a fight with and cite an intangible offense like disrespect as the cause, psst - it's almost impossible to disprove this because the music is always too loud to speak civilly and then you can accuse the innocent of yelling at you.)

Let me share the best conversation of the night:

ER: (Don't forget sexy accent in your head) "Can you believe those fuckin' guys? What was that Marco guy saying to you? Whatever he was saying to you, he should've been saying to me, he shouldn't have bothered you...."

ET: "Soooo, are we going back to your house now? I don't want to get you into trouble, I know you're in a sticky spot still with the ex but I sure would like to come home with you."

ER: "...those guys along the bar knew that was bullshit, they were trying to explain to the owner what happened. I'm sorry that happened, those fuckers. Why would they think I was starting a fight, I'm with my girl? "

ET: "Nesto, I have no clue what the fuck just happened there, everybody was yelling in language I don't understand BUT I'm sitting here, practically throwing myself at you. ARE YOU GOING TO TAKE ME HOME WITH YOU OR WHAT?"

ER: "Oh. Oh! I'm sorry Etta (At-tah), I didn't mean to..."

ET: laughing

ER: "You coming home with me."

And the rest of the night was spent reviving butterflies. Sigh.

The next morning, I had plans to help Tee move and so had to scurry home but Nesto walked me to my car and asked me to stay with him, if I could.

That right there is a cause for pause. I felt like a deer caught in the headlights. I am caught completely unprepared by Nesto's willingness to jump right in and spend some serious quality time. His charming eagerness to grow a relationship is in stark contrast to my jaded, self-erected electric fence.

He wants five kids, I'm happy with my one. He wants a wife, I am desirous of a good time, minus the strings. He has few friends, instead favoring "his girl," I wish I had more time to be with and make more friends. His contrary beliefs are admirable and simultaneously irritating.

In his cheerful compliments and spontaneous displays of affection, my comfortable role of seductress is fast becoming a woman who is way out of her comfort zone; bewildered, but liking it. Despite this, I will remain faithful to my number one assertion that I am NOT wife material, no matter how Nesto tries to convince me I am. Although he has gotten me to agree to sexual exclusivity, a large leap indeed.

Pirate Folk

I think it's just part of being human to anticipate and enjoy an altered sense of reality. How many of our ancestors smoked pot, ate halucinogens and drank themselves silly? Even little ones enjoy spinning till they fall, a childhood version getting high. This picture is me and Lo, spinning high together.

Lola, last summer with a found piece of treasure. The changes in her face since this picture was taken are outstanding, the curls however are the same.

Why am I wearing dress in a storage unit?

Me, surrounded by fire-damaged contents in our back warehouse. What a goofy picture of the Mama pirate.

Sporting the green with s'more co-workers. We took this picture for proof of my company "patriotism" because my brother-in-law likes to complain that I don't love it properly. I argue back that my one caveat in taking the job offer was that I could wear whatever I want and rarely do I want florescent green t-shirts.

My Pants Are On Fire!

I know Lola has been conspicuously absent from Blackheart Lola lately, she's taking a long lunch but I expect her back soon. Ugh, my office persona just butted in. No, she's wonderful, thriving and sassy, just as you'd expect a little Lola to be and her updates are coming soon, promise!
In the meantime, I will bore you with my revolving-door love life s'more. Behold:

Saturdays are a day full of excitement for me, the day I love waking up early on so I can get to the bookstore, the specialty grocers, hit up a cafe for lunch, hike and be active with my Lo. Two Saturdays ago, I got more than I bargained for. Lola was sick with a flu/cold combo that was kicking both our asses so when she slept in (past 8am) on Saturday, I thanked my lucky stars and slept on.

Until Nesto called. Usually a great source of joy, he called apologizing right off the bat. Since we haven't even gotten a chance to become close enough to fight, I had NO idea what he was apologizing for. It soon became clear, however his ex had "found" a text from me and wished to speak with me as she didn't believe him when he said he wasn't a liar, a cheat and a very bad man.

He felt really bad so I told him, "sure, have her call me. I'm awake now, might as well." Well, call she did, during a horrible I'm-too-tired-and-sick-to-do-anything-but-lay-on-the-floor-and-cry episode from Lo. Between the bouts of screaming, she framed her questions in a firm and suspicious manner but she was kind and real and believed me as I lied to her.

Granted, this is a Friends scenario where her and Nesto were already broken up but should I have driven him back to his car instead of bringing him home with me? Probably. Should he have answered "car" when I gave him the option of car or couch? Probably. Do I feel bad for "going for it?" No, not in the slightest. Do I feel bad for lying? Yes, more horribly than I could have anticipated.

Lying to her about my feelings for Nesto can only mean trouble down the road (if there is indeed a road) as they have a child together and we will be coming into contact with one another. While she may be a bit high strung, I can empathize with her feelings over their breakup after 13 (!!) years together and I can tell ya what, I sure wouldn't like being directly lied to by the "other" woman after I have to balls to call and question said woman. I feel terrible because she could be me and I could be her, but for a few simple twists of fate. Bad karma is whispering threats in my ear.

Most of all, I feel bad because she was nice. Maybe if I look at it from a "white lie" perspective in which my lie actually helped her, I would feel better. Did I save her unnecessary grief? They were already broken up, she moved out this past weekend. Would the knowledge have helped her heal in anyway, doubtful? If they were broken up, is it any of her goddamn business? White lie status nonwithstanding, the important question is this: Do I still feel like a huge douchebag?
The answer is a resounding "YES."

ADDENDUM:
Nesto just brought me some tea during the writing of this post and while the tea alone is delicious, the thinking of me part really gets my goose. Charming motherfucker. May he be worth the shanking I might suffer at the hands of his ex...

When Fungus Is Amongus, A Post For Stewie

Last Saturday I abandoned my baby to her father's loving arms and fled to the Dells. To any non-Wisconsinites, this is the tourist town you flee to for a variety of reasons, some of which include Noah's Ark, go-karting, indoor water parks, assloads of bars or simply to lose yourself in the kitschy neon lights. Think along the lines of a chlorinated spring break destination for the destitute northerner....

Anyways, we gathered for my friend's birthday and like every other time we gather, there is food, homemade, lots of it. Mari made German chocolate birthday cupcakes, fruit salad, sandwich supplies. I brought along a banana blueberry bread and good cheer. With my Marbar however, you can be sure there will be some sort of culinary plan within a plan, so you have to ask about illicit ingredients in homemade food before chowing down or you may unwittingly find yourself with an altered reality.

Never one to disappoint, a quick search of the guitar bag revealed some homegrown hallucingens, tucked into Lindt chocolate with a decorative pecan topping. An artistic one, that Mari.

I'll skip over the craziness of an indoor water park crawling with people while under the influence, suffice it say that it was fun...and weird. I'll skip over the the hotel bars I got persuaded to visit while under the influence, suffice it say it was tedious. I'll even skip over the sensual massage sessions, suffice it to say they were niiiiiceeeee. Fast forward all the way to the time when I decided to sleep.

After 10 hours of partying, I was tired. I snuggle in next to my Dobyns and begin to crash, only to be jostled awake by Troy snuggling me into an Etta sammich. Ok, whatever, my mama taught me to share. When Megan moved to the other bed with Billy in it, I shifted, allowing Troy a full half of the bed, methinks I was too kind in hindsight.

As I'm sinking into blessed unconsiousness, I feel a hand slide up my thigh and onto my ass. I removed it and flung it back to it's owner...and like a bad penny, it came back. All night.

I tried to find an alternate sleeping situation but that was a no-go, I tried pushing him off the bed, nope. I shook him, in hopes of waking him up enough to list my grievences so he could remedy the situation, ha, dream on. I got snuggled folks. I don't care to be touched while sleeping and not only was I touched, but I was fucking snuggled within an inch of my life. I awoke wrapped in Troy.

After escaping from his clutches, Dobyns went back into our room for her tea and came out laughing.

"Did you know Troy was naked?"

"What the fuck? NO! Eww, no."

So there it is, a moral for all you moralistic folks: when you are happy with the other occupant of your double bed, put it on lockdown.

Matrimonial Bliss? No Thanks!

It's taken me almost 24 years, but I've discovered my superhero talent: causing breakups. Cool huh?

Not to be confused with a run-of-the-mill "other woman," my powers don't require flirting, shagging or even speaking with a member of the doomed couple. I merely wish them broken up, and it happens.

You know that old adage, be careful what you wish for? Not a joke. I've wished for Sexy Nesto AND Sexy Adjuster to be broken up with their mates and lo and behold:

Nesto's ex is moving out of the house in a week's time and Adjuster's wife has filed for a divorce and they are both asking me for some lovin'

Now, I realize this may be a blessing I should take advantage of (having caused this chaos with superpowers) but I'm a bit worried about dealing with men who have very recently gotten out of decade+ relationships.

My goal: I will be extremely clear that I am not Wifey II material.

Since I've had Nesto mention Lo and I moving in with him and how cute our children would be (as in: not our existing daughters but children we should create together- yikes!) and Adjuster ask if I'd like to meet his children, who were born while I was still in my early teens, this can't be put off...

Will this become more and more common as I get older? Men looking to tie me down forever and ever and ever? Sccccaaaaarrrrryyyy....

I'm Back: Intro and Randoms

The Intro:
(Aka the email I sent to MB.)

You cured my fucking blog! I am convinced, in your almighty MB ways that by giving me a fabulous award, you have saved Blackheart Lola.

That's probably pretty incoherent, so let me explain. Last award, I was so excited. Thought through my answers, wrote a bit, answered a phone, came back and changed a line or two. I was creating a truly award-worthy post, y'see. Finally, it's done, I hit POST and the entire screen goes black.

For weeks, I've been periodically checking up on my magnificient blog of blackness to see if it's miraculously undouched itself. My computer-minded friends, the mighty internet, even the help boards couldn't save it, and I gave up.

I consoled myself in the fact that I could still keep up with the lives of my "regulars" but it wasn't until you gave me award #2 before I decided to click on my own link, one more time. For serendipity...

And wouldn't you know it, Mary Beth magic. Without further ado, I will blog for you madame.

Randoms:
(Aka kitchin up)

Last night as I was putting Lola to sleep, I had a thought and an urge to write about said thought. "Wish my blog was working." said my grey matter. Now, lo and behold, my blog IS working! and I forgot my thought. "Wish my grey matter was working!" says my blog.

I'm not real crazy about being buried. (Note to self, blog about body disposal.) There are so many awesome things you can do with your body after you are no longer using it, it seems a waste to pump it full of chemicals, put it in a satin-lined box and let it eventually rot and seep chemicals into satin and earth. That's too sanitized, wasteful and icky for me.
But after waking up this morning, wedged between Monkey and Lo, I may have softened my attitude a bit. I would be spending a happy eternity between the two of them, if it didn't mean they had to be dead as well. I think I'm still going to stick with my original plan: snuggle between them as much as I can while we're alive and then burn baby burn, after I'm dead. Oldie but goodie.

Things have been getting interesting on the man front but as one of them wants to read this blog, I'm not sure if I can comment quite yet. All I'm gonna say is that I went on one truly wonderful escapism Valentine's Day date which included books (three levels worth, hot damn!), wine and chow. Also, I took Nesto out with me and who should oh-wow-what-a-coincedence-show-up but Tee, so we hung out, the three of us for an hour or so. I don't remeber the last time I've been that uncomfortable, if ever.

A woman I know was pregnant and now is not. I guess deep down I hoped that she would choose the same route I did but I acknowledge the fact this route ain't for everyone. Shit, sometimes it ain't for me. Still doesn't help appease the hollow-soul grief I feel for her and the hard decision she had to face. I'm sorry lovie.

On that sorrowful note, I leave you. I am off to work. And in "work," I mean gather the information needed for my dead body post. Morbid? Maybe. Macabre? Just a touch. Interesting? Oh yes.

Happy, Happy Birthday Baby

Aside from a few minutes, exactly two years ago I became a mom. Holy shit. What's that Dr. Seuss book every graduate gets? "Oh the places you'll go.." Well, I didn't go anywhere. Literally, I'm back at the same house as when I graduated but OH, THE PLACES I WENT.

My little girl has made my life meaningful. She's become a beacon of hope for our future, a blank slate I avidly watch become a person. She's the reason I work, she's my motivation to become a stronger, responsible woman. I want Lo to be proud of me, as proud of me as I am of her.

Going from anti-kid to pro-Lola was definitely a journey. I faced obstacles like health insurance, daycare and shitty strangers saying shitty things about my unmarried status but more importantly, I faced internal obstacles. People say, "it's all in your mind," like it's a comfort, but to me, that can be the scariest place of all. I was helped along the treacherous path of acceptance and eventual love of motherhood by some truly beautiful women and fellow mothers.

For her birthday, we are going to try a new cookie recipe, dance to some horrible Dora music, read some books and snuggle to sleep in our lovenest tonight. Tell me that doesn't sound like fabulous birthday bonding? I can't wait.

Although I can honestly say that I prefer Lo being toddler over a baby, I am thankful for her babyhood, grateful for her toddlerhood and look forward to each and every day after this with my gal.

Cheers Lo, thanks for being my daughter.

Honesty, A True Cure for the Mondays

It's a two-parter today foo's, MB gave me an award! Me, Miss-Wins-Nothing-And-Likes-It! Tra-la-la, what a fabulous day! Award first and little things like LOLA'S BIRTHDAY (!!) will come after. Hooray for today.

Here are the rules for this award:

a) List 10 honest things about yourself - and make it interesting, even if you have to dig deep!

and

b) Pass the award on to 7 bloggers that you feel embody the spirit of the Honest Scrap. Here goes:



1. I firmly believe in dying with dignity and support assisted suicide. Furthermore, I think a person's life is the one thing that truly belongs to him/her and ending that life is personal decision that shouldn't always be met with criticism or stigma. (Disclaimer: I don't think that people should go offing themselves left and right, just that they have the complete right to do so.)

2. I had a pig named MaryJane who just died a few days ago. She was living on a farm-type situation and because it was cold, I kept pushing off bringing her food and more blankets. Now she's dead and I feel so frickin' guilty! (Disclaimer II: She had her own shed, with straw and was fed regularly and has survived several WI winters in such a manner.)

3. I cheated on my first boyfriend, a good man, and to this day have not admitted it to him. Should I? Maybe, but what's the point anymore?

4. I prefer the company of my cat and my books to 90% of the people I know and profess to like. I do like them, but I love my cat and books.

5. I only write for BHL at work. So...technically...I get paid to blog.

6. I also smoke pot at work with my boss. So... I definitely get paid to get high.

7. My favorite bookstore is closing. It's a wonderful independent chain of eight stores, in business for 80 years! I've been buying books there since second grade, one of my favorite places in this world. Of course, I am very sad for them to be going out of business and all the employees out of jobs. I am most sad however because I've been working on this employee named Brian for years. I like immediate satisfaction people, years is a long time for me. Brian is cute in a booky-sort of way and while I can barely get him to greet me with eye contact, get this guy talking about fantasy books, or better yet, graphic novels and your ear might be in danger of getting talked off. Jeez, #7 is a novel! Anyway, I have to now take the plunge and ask this nerd out before he's lost to me, effectively ending my wait for better or worse. It's a bit sad to end our tense book-dance.

8. I treadmill 5 days a week with a huge mirror directly across the room so I can see myself walk. This isn't as vain as it sounds because I don't look that great doing it, kind of a step-jiggle-step pattern. This unsightly image paired with a noticeably smaller waist keeps me going at it.

9. I flirt with bartenders, adjusters, cashiers, stockers, waitstaff, telemarketers, truckers etc indiscriminately, in case being on good terms with them will help me in any way. I don't view this as entirely selfish because I'm sure they appreaciate a happy and flirtatioius customer/business partner/consumer etc over a crabby one. Win-win and if I can get something out of it, win-SCORE!

10. I get warm inner fuzzies when Lola doesn't want to go to Tee's mom's house. I certainly won't force her to go and then I don't have to go get her and pretend to enjoy the company of a person whose company I decidedly do NOT enjoy.

As for the people I feel deserve an award...I don't have seven. I know there are about a zillion bloggers out there but I only have a few I follow that don't get paid to do it. Not that getting paid to blog is a bad thing by any means, but they'll probably get awesome Las Vegas convention awards and so they won't get loving grassroots awards like my homeboys below:

1. Emily at Which Goose because she's creative, playful and beautiful. And because she's romantic and names bugs and shares her snappy sense of style.

2. Giyen at Bacon is My Enemy because she's strong, motivated and funny. And because she's a wonderful single mom, so she inspires me.

3. Timmy at The Next Best Place because he's adventurous, giving and fun. And because one of my best friends dated him while the other pissed on his bedroom wall.

4. Jason at Zola Jones because his blog is a perfect mixture of dignity, business (creator of my favortie purse ever!) and personal anecdotes. And because his cat and my kid have rhyming names.

Here Be Pirates

Wow, things have been cranky 'round here lately. Let's lighten the mood with an old picture of Lola and I. Notice the lack of ringlet curls she now sports, the enormous chubby cheeks, the goldfish mush in her mouth. And me: crazy wild newly shorn (and definitely unbrushed) hair.

We are the two parts that make up the whole of Blackheart Lola. I've been meaning to explain the significance behind the name for awhile, and no better time than the present, correct?

Lola's first word wasn't the typical Mama or Dada. Instead, you could ask her, "Lola, what does a pirate say?" and she would enthusiastically reply"Arrrrrahhhh!" Does this even count as a first word? She's been my baby pirate for almost as long as she's been my baby and if she ever becomes a pirate to the tone of Cutthroat Island her name will have to be Blackheart Lola, the most despised piratess to sail the seas.

Yeah, I have big dreams for my daughter too!

Let's Compare, Shall We?

Main Entry: nocturnal emission

Function: noun: an involuntary discharge of semen during sleep often accompanied by an erotic dream -- compare WET DREAM

Merriam-Webster defines a wet dream above. Now, I don't know about you but my erotic dreams are often quite pleasurable (and totally unrealistic!) When I wake up, I've got a smile on my face and I didn't have to do a damn thing.


I got to thinking about all the hard work making Lola was. The first three months of her existence were spent on the couch of a second story apartment without air, crying and barfing. I laid as still as I possibly could so as not to make myself warmer (spontaneous combustion was a very real possibility) and so I wouldn't invoke the ire of the fickle and pissed-off parasite in me. I imagined the tiny little alien-like grouping of cells like a mighty volcano god ruling my body. Smell the wrong smell, drink an ounce more than approved or think the wrong thought, the volcano god would know and send me sprinting for the bathroom, merrily retching as I go...


The next three months were physically better, plus it had positive things such as feeling Lo move, finding out her sex, hearing the heartbeat, the blessed, beloved heartbeat! But, as the universe balanced itself out, my psychological stability weakened even as my physical condition became bearable. I say bearable because pregnancy still sucked vs. non-pregnancy. The frequent urination, the enormous tits, the kicks while I was trying to sleep and Lola's constant hiccups were still taking their toll. My head was doing it's best to get used to the idea of motherhood and failing pretty miserably.


The last three months was more half/half horrible. I couldn't sleep, I half-expected Lola (in-utero kung fu master) to kick a wee foot right through my womb and cause internal damage. The growing Lo weight was putting pressure on my hips, my back and my poor pelvis was sore. I felt like I had just set a new world record for gangbanging and all I was doing was sitting in an office chair. I did finally get comfortable with being someone's mom, but the sheer physical discomfort really helped dispel the anxiety and make me look forward to her birth. A most selfish anticipation...


1. I barfed.
2. Busted blood vessels in my face, making me look like the walking dead.
3. Didn't sleep.
4. Went off the deep end, came back again.
5. Worried, worried, what if'd, what if'd, worried s'more
6. Pored over baby books, learned what a mucus plug is, examined underwear for bloody show, shopped, washed, cleaned, agonized...
7. Got beat the fuck up from the inside by the body-snatcher
8. My nipples were bitten
9. Labor pains!
10. My vagina stretched to a whopping 10 cm, requiring my first ever stitches.

The comparison of contributions to the making of babies: The above to what men can do involuntarily while dreaming a good dream. Hmmm, imagine me, weighing my Athena-like scales of fairness... I think Lola got the right last name.

PS. This post originated from Tee's tendency to say, "My penis made her." in a smug little voice when Lo's being particularly cute. I think he forgets the tiny little nine months of hell I contributed...

In Which Everybody Says "Stop Being a Pussy Etta!"

When a person tells us about an unfortunate yet commonplace event, fender bender, break up, loss of job, failed class, you may catch yourself trying to console that person but feel unable because hey, that's life, it happens.

That's where I feel the romance between Tee and I belongs. We tried, we lived, we loved, we made one FANTASTIC human being but life happened. I'm still content to travel through life with him as my parental partner, I couldn't wish for a more loving father for Lo. (I could wish that Tee had an enormous trust fund, was a highly motivated professional or owned a horse ranch, but these things might be counter-productive to the good dad status he retains now, so we'll leave things the way they are.)

I'm ultimately content in having him be my friend, my Lola confidante and my former lover and while we've tried (many a time) to revert back to our former relationship, I've harbored this feeling that the time is past and we should move on to our next phase.

Now, hopefully this will be the last time I have this conversation with myself and when I have it with Tee, it'll be the last time I have the conversation with him. I'm aiming for ending this romantic relationship with the dignity and respect it deserves and guiding it into becoming the co-parenting companionship we are both going to need.

Ah, ew, sigh, fret. I hate hurting him, I hate hurting myself. I wish this could just be over.

The Schmooziest of Them All

I get paid to schmooze sometimes, which is a-ok by me since I genuinely like most the people (men) I'm supposed to be schmooze. I suppose we can call them "schmoozees" as I can definitely be a "schmoozer."


An aside: Although I'm an office queen bee, I do get corralled into being a charming face (and let's face it, a pair of charming tits) during business lunches. It's nice on my end to meet the voices I hear so often and they can connect a face and tits to the voice that greets them when they are giving us business. Plus, I get free lunch so it becomes an all around win-win.


Again, luckily, I can find positive attributes about most the men I am forced into socializing with; some are big on family (I can relate), some like to drink wine during lunch (hooray!), some like dirty jokes or live music or cigars. Point being that I can usually find something, a common ground of some sort to deal with these strangers on.

You can see where this is going?


Alas, there are others which I cannot. One in particular gives us lots of work, lots of leeway while performing said work, is very talkative and loves to talk to me. But I can't take it anymore! He's so frickin' creepy and tells the most long-winded, sexist stories that I just want to scream.


He has a daughter a few years younger than I am so you would think he would think flirting with me is icky, but when he's with me, I feel like a bought and paid for object. Yuck, it's a bad feeling, let me provide you with an example.


His insurance office has adjusters spread throughout WI, but keep in mind that I've only personally met two of them. One day, I'm forced to meet this adjuster at a storage facility. Normally, I wouldn't have minded so much but I have Lo with me at work and I know this is going to screw up lunchtime and naptime. In Lola-world, these are two "times" of utmost importance, but I didn't really have much choice.


We drive to meet Adjuster and make our way through the maze of hallways to the storage unit. These hallways are really creepy because the lights are automatic, relying on motion sensors to turn on and once you are passed, they turn off. I fully expected zombies to start reanimating at any moment, Resident Evil style.


Fast forward thru all the dusting off and picture taking of contents and resume at the part where Adjuster begins taking pictures of me. HELLO? We are now an hour late for lunchtime and pushing into naptime as well, not exactly prime photo-op time dickweed! Eventually, we skedaddle, breathe a sigh of relief and let the exasperation fade.


Til a week later when Adjuster calls the office. No, he wasn't giving us work, apparently he just wanted to chat. He told me all about how he got his pictures developed and emailed them to all his little adjuster friends! "They are so jealous that I got to be alone in a storage shed with you."

Dude, eww. And we were not alone! We had a rambunctious, hungry, tired toddler there remember? Remember her getting cranky and ornery? Remember why? Because you took f-o-r-e-v-e-r. Because you were too busy taking pictures of me to send to your pervy middle-aged coworkers.

Ugh. Yuck. Ick. I hate being an unintentional object of lust. I wish I could shoot a lust-laser at the people I want to lust after me (Nesto, Scarlett Johannson) and everyone else could just leave me alone.

Cheeky Little Whippersnapper!

I'm sitting in the hallway of the bowling alley where the reception is held, smoking a cigarette (!), nursing my gin and juice and people watching. The date of one of Mitch's friends comes and sits by me, we start chatting.

A group of guys get up and return to the dance floor, leaving one of their sly pals behind, a plant. He proceeds to strike up a conversation with the girl-date and I. With names exchanged and relationships to bride and groom clarified (none) he asks our ages.

GD, embarassed: I'm 18.
Slyguy to me: What about you?
Me: Hmmph, I think that's probably a rude question to ask.
GD: She's much older.
Slyguy to me, again. (Persistant little bastard.): It's not rude, c'mon tell us your age.
Me: I'm 24.
Slyguy: Whoa, I'm only 21. I guess I'm like a baby compared to you...
Me: narrowed eyes shooting a lazer death beam towards his baby face. ZAP! Kaboom! Brains on the back wall.

Ok, actually GD and I ignored him til he left, then laughed. But really, what's worse, telling people I'm 24 when my birthday is still a few months away (I always seem to jump the gun) or agreeing that yes, 21 is too young. I mean, I have Lo, do I really need a baby who is now able to booze it up?

Yikes. I'm definitely getting old.

My Favorite Mistake

This morning, Lo was curled up in bed beside me and when I began to creep cautiously from the covers, she stirred and fixed her determined little eyes on me.

"Mama...my mama." Spoken barely above a sleepy whisper but with a note of steely resolve.

She rolled over, scooched her butt back, reached over her own wee body, grabbed my hand and put it on her belly. We ended up with my cheek resting on her forehead and my left arm encircling her little body. A warm tangle of MommyBaby in our lovenest.

Satisfied with the new arrangement, she conked out again, immediately snoring.

My heart melted into two meaty puddles in the soles of my feet. "Ok Lo, twist my arm," I thought. We were 15 minutes late for work today.

And I never wanted kids, HA.

Shuttering With Indecision

Ho Ho (Lo's personal Santa Claus) was supposed to bring us a camera. Alas, Ho Ho was too indecisive on whether we needed another Canon (as we already have charger, batteries and case) or something a little more Mama-proof.

My first camera was "lost." And by lost I mean taken by someone, ass.

The second one, my beloved chocolate Powershot accompanied me and Nelly in a row boat, to capture the images of the awesome sea-beasts we were about to catch... Unfortunately, we caught ZERO sea-beasts and my poor little camera got a frickin' dribble of water on it and died.

This brings to me a story. Once upon a time, my friends and I created a group named the Waukesha Travel Whores because we are whores for weekend travelling (cheap, little time away from Lo or work) and it is comprised of friends who are good travelling companions (easy-going, has money for gas or willing to drive).

On this particular WTW trip, we went to St. Paul for Grand Old Day, which is similar to Summerfest in WI, only located within a block-sized area. There were blues bands, traditional Indian music, Irish ballads, rap, contests, beer, ethnic foods and lots & lots of drunk people. We enjoyed a few different shows and then it happened....

Max dropped his camera, whack, bounce and sllliiiiiiidddddeeee...into the storm drain. Well, my camera had recently succumbed to a minuet splash of water so I offered my condolences. But wait, Max had hope.

"It's waterproof up to blank many feet!" He tells me, "I'm gonna go get it."

He then proceeds to lift the storm drain grate and carefully lower himself down. After hearing many "ewwww"s, and "groosssss"-es, he found the camera and two of our friends helped him out.

The reactions of some of the Grand Old Dayers were pretty funny but looking at it from the perspective of someone just walking by, I guess seeing a guy getting pulled out of a drain doesn't happen too often. A cop came over to make sure Max was ok, and then made sure his camera was ok. Thing is, it was covered in goop and kind of smelled but it was fine!

So, I guess that leaves me with Ho Ho's dilemma once more. Waterproof or accessories?

Call Me Mama WorryWort

So, John Travolta's son just died. CNN's IReport asked for personal stories and words of hope for the Travoltas and oh my lordy, can you say tears at work?!

Car accidents, drowning, suicide, murder; no matter the method, the pain was there.

Parenting is such a daunting task already in the fact that if you fuck up, you ruin a life. Gee, no pressure. Add into the mix that you're not just aiming to raise said child into adulthood, but guide them into becoming well-rounded, wonderful members of society. Add into that there are events over which you have NO control which will affect said child, possibly doing them harm and my little control freak brain nearly explodes...

This means I am currently worried about any or all of the following: Seizures, violent allergic reactions, car accidents, the pool gate left open, rabid beasts, zombies, nice old neighbors who turn out to be pedophiles, escalators, drive-by shootings, ax-wielding maniacs, heavy machinary, house fires, cancer, dehydration, rampaging tigers etc.

Jeez, no wonder I'm so tired by the end of the day.

That said, I don't let these worries paralyze me and I'm certainly not an overprotective mother (eating dirt won't hurt her, she'll find out soon enough it doesn't taste good...) but it's scary all the same. The feeling of helplessness in the face of so many things that could go wrong for a person I've been put on this earth to raise and protect, simply not fair.

And THEN I think about all the stupid shit I've done, like natural diasters such as tornadoes and zombies don't endanger us enough.

7 years ago... "Snorting pain killers while rolling isn't that bad, is it?" (For the record folks, bad idea.)

Take your pick of years ago... "Wellll, I don't have a condom, do you?"

5 years ago... "Let's eat these mushrooms, grab the Jack and go swimming!"

8 years ago..."We gonna play chicken, bitch."

I find it likely that at some point in Lo's life, there will be a moment in which her life hangs in the balance. I think all of us have been in a situation like this, the blessing is that we don't always know it.

EXAMPLE: A classmate was once involved in a really bad car accident. The car flipped, smashed into a tree, caught fire, the works. Everybody walked away relatively ok and when the fire dept. arrived, the classmate was told that if he hadn't have just filled up his gas tank, the car would've exploded rather than burned.

That small, everyday decision of filling up his tank may have saved his life.

As Lo gets older, I know I'll worry more and more. The curse of parenthood. My sympathies to the Travoltas.

Etta, The Cosmic Laughingstock

I feel the need to deplore the timing of the universe. Quite simply put, it sucks.

My excerise-in-restraint-with-Nesto outing was cheerful and incredibly tempting and it made me proud that I do have a little something called self-control...

My let's-go-out-because-you're-getting-divorced meeting with my sexy adjuster went excellent also. There was food, drink, cigars and a backrub... (Waning self-control is still self-control folks.)

And of course the next day, Tee brings me a rose for no reason and professes his love...

Umm. What can I say about this?

Annoying!
Timing!

More to come.