It’s been some time since I used a really catchy (read: risque) title. I’m sure Google just downgraded my site and diverted my already slim traffic.
About the title…
As many of you know, Pye doesn’t travel well. You may recall the time she destroyed her brand new (cloth) carrier in a howling fit a few years ago during our return trip from the time she rode in the chassis for 150 miles. Clearly, she doesn’t do many things well like staying put, with the possible exception of eating, shedding and scratching furniture.
When I temporarily relocated in advance the two recent storms, I reluctantly admited the duct tape was no longer a practical solution to the Pye-shaped holes in the once-new-and-still-hardly-used cat carrier. With plans for an upcoming trip to Tennessee, Oklahoma, Texas, and Louisiana (the trip never happened, but that’s a boring story), I decided to upgrade to a metal, Pye-proof cat carrier.
I ordered it online and, like many things on the internet, But, wait! There’s more…
This isn’t really a post, it’s a confession, one I hope helps someone else. At least then the struggle won’t be all for nothing. This is about something I’ve dealt with for a long time, over thirty years. It’s something I very rarely talk about because I feel it makes me somehow less acceptable as a person, broken, not good enough.
(No, this is not about Speck. The one bright spot this week is Speck has left the RV park and is no longer a constant reminder. I wish him well.)
This is how I feel when I’m depressed, like the shadow of a person. Empty, hollow, without substance.
I started writing this over a year ago, but didn’t have the courage to finish it until today. I started writing it after Tim Ferriss wrote about his struggle and how he’s hidden it for a long time. I get it. I totally, completely get it.
Jennifer Aniston just spoke about her insecurities, the same ones we all deal with. Again, I get it, on a level I wish I didn’t, I get it. And I have a whole new respect and deep appreciation for Jennifer Aniston as a human being.
The Bloggess often writes about her battles. By her admission and openness, she comforts me and the entire interwebs. We know we aren’t really, even though we feel utterly, completely alone. I hope to be like her someday: brave, vulnerable, and to let someone else know they aren’t alone.
I identified with all of what they said, and applaud their bravery and honesty, their vulnerability. They have inspired me to admit my own struggles. But, wait! There’s more…
“I’m trading you two in for good kids,” my dad bellowed to Chickenbone and I one summer day long ago after we’d been acting up.
After our parents divorced, Chickenbone and I spent summers at my father’s house in Carlsbad, California. We were generally allowed to run amok during the day while he was at work, or sometimes we would spend days at our grandparents house nearby. We loved the freedom, but we also got bored after a while.
We were shocked. “Trade us in? What do you mean?”, one of us asked.
“I’m trading you two in. As soon as the catalog comes in the mail, I’m going to trade you two in for good kids.”
Bewildered, we asked,”What catalog?” But, wait! There’s more…
Remember when I said ‘Texans have big balls‘? Well, they have some really big nuts, too.
But they let me in anyway.
I went to the nuthouse. I know you’re all thinking, “Well, it’s about time!”
No, not as a patient! It was just for a visit thankyouverymuch. Besides, it wasn’t that kind of nuthouse.
But before we get to the nuthouse, I’m going to tell you about the World’s Biggest Nuts. And they’re in Texas, of course.
Seguin, Texas, Home of the World’s Largest Pecan. But which one? There are three and this is the small one.
But, wait! There’s more…
Kernut was in Kerrville, Texas. Again.
“Home, home on the range. Where the deer and the antelope play.”
Kerrville, a town of about 22,000 in the northeastern area of Texas Hill Country, is where my grandparents had a small ranch for about 30 years. I was last there when I was twelve – a few decades ago, or 10 years ago. Hard to say, my math isn’t so good. I’m 29, dammit!
Kerrville has grown quite a bit and now includes the ubiquitous WalMart. My grandmother sold the last section of the ranch several years ago, but I decided to drive by and see how it’s changed since I was a kid. When I went by I found a portion of the original property was again for sale.
And guess what? There’s a pyramid in Kerrville, Texas! Like the one in Quartzsite, Arizona, I’m pretty sure the Egyptians didn’t build this one, either.
Entrance to the ranch in Kerville.
I’d totally forgotten about the gate guard pyramid. I think my grandfather built most of it and then the current owners refurbished it.
But, wait! There’s more…
I thought about you naked.
Then I put some clothes on and thought about you some more.
(Right about now my parents are probably cringing and wishing I didn’t blog.)
To the rest of you I recommend condoms to prevent any blogging children.
(This isn’t a real post, it’s more a bit of emotional release about the holidays, inspired in part by Hiker Mike’s post. I have a real, media-intense post on Slab City coming this week. I promise.)
These are my "Ho Ho Ho" shoes. ahem.
This Christmas was bittersweet for me.
As my regular readers know, more often than not I’m quite content with being single. There are minuses, of course, but overall I enjoy it. (For more specifics, see: Ten Reasons Dating Sucks and Ten Things I Like About Being Single and Ten Things I Don’t.)
But sometimes I really But, wait! There’s more…
(This post was inspired by Oh Noa’s on lying to her future children. It reminded me of the many lies my parents told us.)
I don’t know about you, but I need some humor while I sort through the Match.com adventures. So today I bring you Lies My Parents Told Me.
1. If you don’t behave I’m going to trade you in for new kids. My Dad said there was a catalog of kids he could trade us for. A catalog of good kids. Chickenbone and I believed this. We were cuter than we were smart. After my father threatened to do this one too many times, we got really worried. We told Mom that Dad planned to get rid of us by trading us in for good kids. After she stopped laughing, Mom told us that he couldn’t do that. Then she laughed some more. When we told Dad that Mom told us the truth, he laughed, too. That is, until he realized the threat was no longer valid.
2. This is going to hurt me more than it will hurt you. Yeah, I’m an adult now and I still don’t buy that crap.
3. We’re divorced. They weren’t. Then they got back together. Then, years later, they got divorced. For real. This time they waited until the minute my father was leaving with suitcases in hand to tell us. Not much time for us to get used to the idea. No time to learn that divorce meant Dad wasn’t going to live with us anymore. A heart-breaking moment for sure. I’m still scarred. And you wondered why I blog. It’s all starting to become clear now, isn’t it?
4. If you don’t eat your vegetables, kids in Africa will starve. Since we really didn’t want the vegetables and the kids in Africa needed them, we asked if we could send them our vegetables in the mail. Mom said no. So we said she shouldn’t buy so many. But, wait! There’s more…
Ahhh, childhood memories. So sweet, so innocent, so…
…much like a college frat party.
What is was like at Mom's.
For the most part, I lived a pretty sheltered life growing up in the Santa Barbara area until shortly before the age of 14. After my parents divorced when I was around eight, my younger sister, Chickenbone, and I lived with our mom most of the year. We had to be in the house at 5pm, and in bed at 8:00 or 8:30pm, depending on our age. We had chores to do every weekend and were fed health food.
McDonald’s was not on the menu. We stole candy from the local candy store because we were starved for sugar. (I hope the statute of limitations has run out ’cause I just totally confessed to a major crime. Again.)
Then I was sent to live with my father in Capitola, but for the next year my sister continued to live with my mother. Things were very different at Dad’s: My curfew for school nights was midnight, bedtime was up to me, I could eat whatever I wanted, and drink from the liquor cabinet.
When I graduated 8th grade, Dad bought me a beer to celebrate. But, wait! There’s more…