As A Matter Of Fact, I Was A Home Pooper

Many, many posts back I indicated my severe aversion to public restrooms and one of my readers commented back that I was a "home pooper." After reading that phrase I absolutely laughed my ass off because it's true and I never realized there was an actual term for my condition. Ask anyone in my immediate family and they will assure you it's true. Plus, I am always bewildered by people who aren't home poopers. Doesn't it bother them that someone is going to probably have to go right after them?

Can they not smell that smell? Having a seriously delicate stomach, if I walk into a restroom that someone has just fouled, I have to immediately leave. If I'm on the road there is always another gas station down the road, I can hold it. Or, we can travel the Spartan route as I prefer, and that means there is no food or drink for the duration of the drive no matter how fucking long it is. Chew gum if you get thirsty or hungry. No food or drink equals no stops at public facilities, plus we make better time. You'll have plenty of time to use the restroom when we get to our final destination.

It used to be easy for me to travel years ago. From about 1977 through to 1992 I lived on TaB in a can, thus negating any real need to spend quality restroom time. Briefly in my disco years I tried cocaine (don't gasp, if you're my age you probably did too, remember they thought it wasn't addicting back then) until I got a snootful that was liberally cut with baby laxative. Though severe paranoia and talking frentically after days of no sleep didn't bother me, the effects of the baby laxative did. Who knew that TaB could build up in a colon like that?

Then I got pregnant with my son and had to change my unhealthy ways. Eating food entered my life, along with profound morning sickness for all nine months so that I didn't actually enjoy what I ate for very long. Also entering my life was explaining to my unable to smell anything due to multiple broken noses husband why we had to drive from bathroom to bathroom when we were out so that I could throw up in a clean smelling bathroom. I learned just to always carry ginger ale, wet wipes, crackers, and plastic bags every where with me. It was easier to get sick in the bag while driving down the road than to risk public restrooms or hanging out the window. If I threw up out the window on your car around the Lenox area of Atlanta in 1992-1993, I am horribly sorry, please accept this much overdue apology.

On birthing day, despite having read every pregnancy manual ever published, I some how missed the part about what might happen while pushing the baby out.

And it did. I pooped. In public. With about eight strangers watching. So I did the logical thing and quit labor and told all involved that I would no longer assist in the birthing process. I also closed my eyes because if I can't see them, then they can't see me or the poop. Thank God I had banned cameras from the birthing area.

I found out too late that quitting labor was not actually an option and the baby came anyway. I did warn a friend though that was due right behind me and she immediately quit eating until her induced delivery date. Her birthing video was beautiful and she never said "fuuuuuck" or screamed at God once, plus her lipstick made it though until the end.

One divorce and many years later, I remarried. Thus far I have managed through seven years of marriage to my not so new husband to hide any body function I've ever had. I did have to train him though. He had a bizarre habit of standing outside the bathroom door and asking me if I was okay if I was in there for more than five minutes. I had to question him about this curious habit; did he lose a wife or girlfriend once in a restroom? Was there some form of potty trauma that happened in his youth? Was it an obscure military practice? Finally I broke him of this by telling him that when the door was shut it was none of his business what happened behind it, just to assume I am doing some drawn out and private beauty ritual and will emerge when I am done.

But now the silence and mystery are gone.

I got the bubonic plague/strep throat/ stomach virus this week. And every time I thought I was safe to leave the house, I wasn't. I, after many years of colonic discipline and conditioning, lost my cookies so to speak. So apologies are now extended to the following:

My spin instructor who I damn near knocked out of the way last night to run to the locker room. I was back in time to cool down. You think sickness keeps me from my workout?

Anyone who entered that locker room afterward. I ran for my life before anyone could figure out who did it; it is a bonus being physically fit. When I feel better I do plan on writing a comment card out about putting cans of Lysol in every stall and on the restroom counter.

Everyone from Madison to Tallahassee.

Everyone at my gym in Tallahassee. Bless you for the cleaning supplies readily available.

Everyone from Tallahassee to Pinetta. I seriously considered dropping in on a acquaintance in Pinetta, but realized that to poop and run would be quite rude. My home is not too far away and I felt I had violated the great state of Florida enough. I know they have millions of traveling old people everyday that do this, hence the remarkable availability of rest stops (about every 28 to 30 miles), but I really felt it would not be fair to add to the problem anymore today.

Since yesterday I have had miso, bananas, and some lettuce. I would hate to think what a meal might have done. For everyone's restroom peace of mind, I do plan to stay in this evening. If you were planning an evening out in the Greater Valdosta Metropolitan area or surrounding suburbs, you are safe to go out and enjoy yourself knowing I won't be spreading more plague anywhere tonight.

As an afterthought, I do have to do a follow up on the post "The Love Doctor Is In The House". I got an email from S... yesterday thanking me again, but he never heard a word from A... and decided she wasn't interested after all. I did email him back explaining that most women are a little scared of meeting a guy on Craigslist and that perhaps she had no computer to email him with. He agreed with me and decided just to man up and talk to her the next time he stops at her store. You go for it S... and the best of luck to you!

Wide-On Of The Week: Aaron Eckhart

Wide-On noun. A slang phrase referring to a physical manifestation of female desire or attraction.

Ex: "Aaron Eckhart is handsome in a rather vanilla sort of way, but I could get a wide on with him if no one else were available."

He does have all the criteria I look for in a man; he's tall, blonde. light eyes, nordic/anglo saxon/germanic heritage. But yet, I always forget about him five minutes after I see him in anything. Go figure. He's hot in a sort of soccer dad sort of way, catches your eye at the game, and you forget about him until the next match.

This weekend his movie "Love Happens" with Jennifer Anniston, who I must add is his female equivalent, opens in theaters. As cute as they both are, they both lack that "something" that makes it happen for me. However, I do think they are perfectly partnered in this project which looks like something I would rent if everything else were out.

I did try to find a few shirtless pics of Aaron, but I think he's been dressed in a suit for the last decade. So enjoy what I did find:

Now, after looking at these images, close your eyes and try to remember what he looks like.

See? Doesn't really stay with you very long. But enjoy it while it does.

Have a great weekend and keep sending those suggestions for "Wide On" features!

My New 2009 Fall Handbag

Yes, it's exactly what it looks like; a torn up cat's ass. Since her face is obscured by her new head gear, this is Delia--post surgery. We noticed yesterday that she seemed very lethargic and was in noticeable pain when we tried to examine her hindquarters. Turns out that she had a bad bite on her tail area that turned in to an abscess, and then ruptured. Cats are odd creatures that rarely show any signs that they are ill until it's really bad.

Sadly my new 2009 Fall handbag looks exactly like my 2008 version:

This surgery was because of a puncture wound to her side, though we never determined how the puncture happened.

I don't dare tell my BF, as she makes fun of me enough about how much I spend on cat related issues. A few years ago I had a vet that seemed to practice anti-aging cat medicine. I spent more money on one of my cat's teeth in a year than I've ever spent on my child's. Then the same cat developed thyroid problems right after the horrifically expensive gum surgery (it did help his halitosis problem), and at this point was probably between 15 to 17 years old. I had to make the painful decision to vet shop for a vet that would send poor old Nudger to his well deserved kitty reward instead of trying to keep him (expensively) alive forever. The only surgery Nudger hadn't had by the time I found the Dr. Kervorkian of vets was cosmetic surgery, though the gum and dental procedures did enhance his appearance a bit. He was quite handsome for a cat that was over one hundred years of age in feline years.

Delia will be a house kitty from now on, her running around at night with her friend Rosie will have to be curtailed. She's had her fun, it's time to relax into middle aged kittydom. We can keep her happy with cat nip and laser pointers and she can come out on our back porch in the evening if I keep the doors shut. She can sit on my lap in the winter out there while I peruse the new Spring 2010 handbags and dream of actually getting to own one next year, instead of giving my purse fund to the veterinarian.

The Love Doctor Is In The House

I am a frustrated matchmaker, or maybe just a meddler. But somewhere in my world weary soul there is a hopeless romantic. Many years ago, I used to read the personals section in Creative Loafing, which is an Atlanta based weekly paper devoted to arts, literature, music, and events around the city. I would skim through the section and wonder about the people who wrote them. Did they ever meet the one? Did they even get dates? What did they really look like and why were they trying to meet someone through a news paper ad?

I never responded to one because I didn't need any help attracting crazy, I did really well on my own. But I would look at ads and "match make" couples from them, then wonder if they ever met.

So twenty years later I'm still a personals junkie, just online now. Sunday afternoon I was job hunting on Craigslist (huge waste of time, but I had run out of other job boards), when I started looking through the rest of the site. I didn't want to waste time on personals, but I did see a section labeled "Missed Connections" and was immediately intrigued.

Here's what I found:

"Your name is A.... I think, I think thats what you're name tag said. And you're a shift manager....or something like that. I know you don't know me, even if I described myself but I'm a trucker and stop in that J about once or twice a week. I'm always hoping you're working when I go in. I think you are B-E-A utiful! I'm not your typical trucker, I mean I'm not 300 lbs with a handlebar mustache. I'm 32, clean cut, shaved head, goatee (trimmed short), 5'9", good tan, 185 lbs, and I workout three days a week. I would love to know what your story is, are you married? Boyfriend? Anyways, I'd love to talk to you but I don't wanna try and talk to you when I'm in line paying for fuel, I know you're busy. Hopefully you'll read this, if you do, at least write me back to say that you read it even if you're not interested. I'd like to know if these "missed connections" actually work. Hope to talk soon."

Now how in the hell do you think I could let that go unanswered? I've seen "Sleepless in Seattle" and "You've Got Mail", and of course the biggest romantic tear jerker of all time, "An Affair To Remember". What if "A" never reads Craigslist???? She would never, ever know that someone was interested in her and took the time to write something like this. Reading this guy's message, he sounded really nice and thoughtful enough to notice that she was busy at work. Plus he thinks she's beautiful, and that's really sweet. How could I not help two possibly star crossed lovers connect and live happily ever after???

Assuming he wasn't an online stalker or serial killer, or worse.

So I had to meddle. I emailed him:

"Hi Nice Trucker Guy,

I'm not A...., but if you want I will print this out and see if I can get it to her. Is that the Flying J at exit 2? She may not read Craigslist, so may never see it otherwise. I don't know her or anything, just happened across your post and thought it was pretty cool. I met my husband accidentally on line, so yes things do happen like that!

Best of luck!"

And he replied:

"Yes, it is the J at exit 2. Yes, absolutely, I can use all the help I can get. Don't go out of your way or anything, but if you run across her maybe put a bug in her ear. Couldn't hurt right? Anyways, thank you Lisa, I assume your name is Lisa from your e-mail. I'm S....... Thanks again."

Yes, I do hope he's not crazy as it's obvious I have no career in stealth operations. I didn't sign my email, but I forgot it gives you my name when I send one to someone.

So I printed out the original post and our emails back and forth to each other. I drove down to the truck stop today and went over to the fueling desk to find her. She didn't come in until later, so I gave it to the two nice girls that were there and told them the story. They read his post and thought it was really nice too. I put my name and phone number on it so that she could call me if she had any questions or just simply didn't want to answer him directly. You can't be too careful out there, but my gut feelings are that this guy is probably pretty nice. I was disappointed that I didn't get to meet A... in person though so that I could see what she looks like.

Then I emailed S.... to let him know I delivered his post. I hope they meet and everything goes really well.

After all, it is "love bug" season down her in South Georgia and you never know exactly how you might get bit.

Yes, We Actually Are Rednecks.

Yes we are. I've always said that I was two beers away from being a redneck, which means give me two beers and I'll be howling for a band to play "Freebird" and holding up someone's lighter if they do. I'm also not immune to mud bogging, SEC Football, and setting fire to things in my yard just for the sheer thrill of burning a big pile of yard debris and such.


However the Teenager and his friends don't actually need beer to bring out their inner rednecks as the above picture shows. Yes, they do have a friend tied to the golf cart and are surfing him around our yard.

This was right before they almost surfed him into a tree. That would have hurt like hell. In every group of friends there is always the one that the accident or crazy incident happens to; he's that friend in their group. Going back to the post, "G.I. Jew And The Devil Puppies Get Some", this is the friend that got caught the night they were captured during a maneuver at our local watering hole. He just got off of a two month long restriction, so the Puppies were happy to have him back.

There he goes for another spin around the house after that near painful collision.

Life may move slow down here, but it is never dull. And yes, I do keep a well stocked first aid cabinet at all times.

Divas Get It On At Art Of The Catwalk

Just came back from "Demo Days" at my favorite Tallahassee gym, Art of the Catwalk and what a fun day it was! There were all sorts of "mini" classes you could take to see if you liked them plus a great variety of local businesses showed off their services and wares. I'm going to try to give everyone credit here that I talked to, but if I miss you please know that it was unintentional.

First of all I took an amazing high energy zumba class from Doreen Hughes, one of the studio's many gifted instructors. Zumba, for those that haven't tried it, is a fast paced and rhythmic Afro/Latino dance style that incorporates moves from salsa, the mambo, the cha-cha, and every other hip swinging dance style you can think of mixed with a hypnotic African drum beat. It's very sexy and you look sexy when you do it; unlike my attempts at pole dancing, but I haven't quite given up on mastering that yet. I just need the right shoes and they have them at the gym. They actually have a great selection of "stripper" shoes and at prices where you can afford to buy a few pair.

Next I moved on to meet a pretty young woman that was doing body painting, Ayesha Hussain. She did an amazingly beautiful free hand design flower on my inner arm that I love. It should last about ten days or so. Here is a link to her site, Mirage Body Art. She does do body paint parties or individual art work.

Next I went and checked out some of the salons that were offering products and services. I found two that look wonderful, so I'm looking forward to going to visit them soon. Cabello's, which I must mention is having a grand opening party on Wednesday September 23rd from 7-9, offers not only hair and nail services, but also spa services. Checking through their salon packet I saw some wonderful facials and body treatments. I personally plan on doing the body polish and mud body wrap, plus they offer a natural alternative to Botox called Escutox. You can add it to any facial treatment for thirty more dollars and the description sounds interesting. You know I'm all about tightening and lightening without frightening.

Also there was Bernice at Betton Salon and Day Spa, which was funny because I have been "shopping" them online. They also offer a wide variety of facial and body treatments that I'm interested in, so I will be sure to try them as well. They offer some wonderful packages, I really love the "Full Day in Heaven" package, which I have to add is very reasonably priced.

Next of course was jewelry! I left with the most gorgeous golden pearl necklace ever from a company called Belladona's Pearls. Sadly they don't have a website, because the jewelry that they brought was absolutely gorgeous. They had pearls at every price range and every color. They also host "pearl parties" where you can get free pearls or a 20% donation to an organization of your choice. This picture does not show how gorgeous the necklace actually is, the pearls are a deep autumn gold strung on very delicate silver metal cording. Since they don't have a site, I will give you their number: 850-766-0541, plus I will be out tonight at O'Corley's showing off my pearls and watching my friend's band "Little Brown Peach" and hopefully celebrating Georgia's win against South Carolina.

Then it was back to Valdosta and a stop by my favorite sex toy store; An Even Greater Divide. No, I wasn't there for sex toys today. I needed charcoal for my hookah pipe. Yes, though I don't smoke cigarettes, I do occasionally smoke a bowl of Triple Apple or Chocolate tobacco. This store has the greatest staff ever, I always love to come in and shoot the shit with them. Today we got on my favorite subject, "True Blood". One of the girls made the observation that I resemble the character "Maryann Forrester" and what was really weird was that I had actually noticed the same thing a few nights ago watching the show. Anyway, I was flattered. Maryann and I have lots in common, though I don't eat hearts. I did mention I write about the show quite a bit, especially Alexander Skarsgard. Most of my posts about him are over on Mike Alvear's site, which you should check out for the great posts about relationships also. Mike stars on HBO's hit British series "Sex Inspectors", which I would LOVE to have here in the states...hint, hint HBO.

Anyway, it was an eventful Saturday. I have to go nap now and get ready to go out later. Have a great weekend as always and come down to O'Corley's tonight to meet up with me and my cute girlfriends.

Wide-On Of The Week: Hugh Jackman

Wide-On noun. A slang term referring to something or someone that creates a state of arousal in women.


Ex: "I forget to include Hugh Jackman in the "Wide-On" feature every week, but he most certainly gives me a wide on checking out these pictures of him."


Thank you to all the women that have suggested him! I don't notice brunettes as much as blondes, but he popped up yesterday on E!'s played out "30 Best and Worst Beach Bodies" that they show several times a week along with that stupid "Bring It On" movie starring the girl from "Heroes". But I always get sucked into a countdown show, no matter how many times I've already seen it.



When they got to Hugh I realized I had my feature, so enjoy the following pictures of him. He really has gotten better with age.







Enjoy and have a good weekend!

So Sorry To Offend.... Not

Due to overwhelming response in the last few hours I did have to update this post. Everyone I knew called this afternoon to hear about the ugly email, so in all fairness let me post it so that everyone can actually see what sort of people we are dealing with:

Here is the original email from my mom:

On Thu, 9/10/09, Subject: your blog> Date: Thursday, September 10, 2009, 1:20 AM>

"you are so full of shit,you will never take care of me, you made it sound like i am a drooling idiot and believe me you have just made a fool of yourself because i am going to call you out on this . everyone who knows me is aware of how independent i am.you were making me miserable not the other way around, and the doctor did not speak to you privately. get a life you are so not real and it shows"

Wow. That's a person with their shit all together. Do so love the punctuation and writing style.

And here is my response:

"I am sorry you are such an angry person. You have lived a very angry life and you are going to die the same way. But that has been your choice. I really hope not to hear from you again. You have been a terrible mother, and deserve every thing that is happening to you right now.Please do not get in touch with any of us again."

That felt good. I've waited forty plus years and lots of therapy to break this relationship off cleanly. I celebrated by getting registered for school and taking my son out to dinner. My husband, who got a copy of the email, is very proud of me for finally taking a stand against this bitter, angry, old bully that has had such a negative impact on my life.

Today I got a lot of silly flack from my post "My Mother's Keeper". Here's one comment I rejected for obvious reasons:

Donnie has left a new comment on your post "My Mother's Keeper":

Wow, you really are a bitch, aren't you !? This is so twisted and full of lies, I don't blame her for being pissed at you. How could you talk about her like she's some invalid? And then have the nerve to make it about you and YOUR burden of taking care of her!?? I'm on board with you on one thing, she won't bother you ever again! She will never ask, nor give you a damn thing! She has better friends than she does a daughter. We will take care of her from now on. You just keep your insecure, over dramatic, OCD ass down there where you belong and leave the rest of us to care for OUR loved one!

Peace!

Since he wasn't there that day I have to question the "liar" part, nor does he know me at all, I guess you would have to consider his source.


So sad. She also sent me an ugly email and the only reply I could give her was to not ever contact me again. Having a horrible history with her, this is a relationship I won't miss in the least.

I had originally written the post as I noticed all the other women waiting in the lobby for their parents and what it was like suddenly realizing that your parent was elderly. The other comments I received were overwhelmingly positive and from women doing the same thing I am.

So in response to the "comment", which I might add was left in typical coward fashion through "no reply", I only have this to say:

Have at it, knock yourself out.

Oh, and thanks for the ratings spike.

Peace right back at you.

My Mother's Keeper

Today I became my mother's caretaker. It's probably overdue, but as the doctor spoke solely to me about my mother's condition, I was grateful for once that my son could take care of himself (for the most part), that my husband was working overseas and did not need my full attention, and that I am still unemployed and have time to run back and forth to Atlanta when she might need me.

We went this morning to Piedmont hospital for my mother to have a balloon angioplasty procedure to determine any blockages she might have in her circulation. She's been ill for years and still working because she is too stubborn not to get up every day and go to work.

They took her in early today and had her back in a mere forty five minutes. They were unable to place any stents in because they couldn't anesthetize her for any longer without killing her. My mother has approximately 38% lung capability due to years of smoking and working in a smoke filled environment. I mentioned it to one of the nurses that prepped her for surgery and they immediately put her on oxygen prior to the procedure.

When the doctor came to talk to us later she gave me the full run down of my mother's condition. She needs a quadruple bypass, but won't survive the operation due to lack of oxygen. They are putting her on nitroglycerin to help open her veins and arteries and will attempt to put in a few stents over the next few weeks.

Without these, she won't make it another six months.

I had to explain everything later to my mother. She certainly doesn't lack in intelligence, but the lack of oxygen to her cells and brain creates a sense of confusion, especially in the late afternoon.

I wasn't the only daughter in the waiting room. There were lots of us. Tired, middle-aged women showing strain lines between our brows, at least the un-botoxed among us. The woman next to me was trying to arrange for her husband to pick up her mother after her procedure so that she could get back to work. Another woman was working from the waiting room on her laptop. Another was texting and pacing, angry that the coffee machine was broken. Again.

I don't drink coffee normally, but even I was frustrated for the lack of it.

After waiting for hours, she was impatiently and fretfully laying flat on her painfully degenerating discs unable to move her legs or sit up. We got some Darvocet to take the edge off. Finally she could get up to have the nurse take her to the bathroom, and could eat a stale pastry I found at the coffee shop. She signed the release papers and I helped her button her shirt up as her fingers are crooked from rheumatoid arthritis.

I, having only a son, wondered one day who would do this for me.

I got us home easily, a miracle in the horrible Atlanta traffic. She curled up on the sofa in depression, despondent because she thought the doctor could cure anything.

But sometimes they can't.

Checking with my son later, I asked for another day to stay here to help out. Loneliness is the worst disease my mother suffers. I feel guilty because I don't always understand that, I tend not to be very sensitive to people's feelings. Okay, I'm never sensitive to other people and am repelled when they seem needy to me. Unfortunately I need to get past my revulsion now, because someone needs me again. I try to remember parenting my son when he was little, I enjoyed that. It was the first time I felt comfortable having someone lean on me, I'll have to try to get to that place again.

I don't know if I'm up to this. I'm not a very nurturing person. I have cats and cacti.

They don't need much from me.

This is a person. A prickly person to be sure, but still one in need of tending to.

I hope I can do this. God knows I don't do well in any situation where my carefully constructed little OCD schedule gets fucked with.

I don't do change well. Then there's the talking. She talks a lot, I am used to silence. I tune out when people talk too much.

Plus there's too many people here. I can't breathe with so many people. I try to go to the gym and there are way too many people near me. I've taken to going odd hours. I wish they were open late, really late.

I miss my late night run. Apparently here it's dangerous to run in the middle of the night like I do at home. I feel caged and cramped, how did I live here before?

But I'm needed, so I'll find the strength somewhere. Other women do it, and so can I.

Wide-OnOf The Week: Rudy Reyes

Wide-On noun. A slang term describing female sexual interest or arousal.
Ex: "Rudy Reyes is so incredibly fine! This video clip featuring his perfect body gives me a huge wide-on!"

I almost forgot about Rudy Reyes of HBO's "Generation Kill" in my fervor for Alexander Skarsgaard. However, in searching for inspiration this week, I did run across a picture I had saved of him and was reminded again why I watched that series over and over again. I didn't actually listen to much of the dialogue the first few times either.

Rudy Reyes also has a personal site: Rudy Reyes and I read his incredible life story as well. He's hot and he overcame physical, mental, and emotional issues to grow into an inspiring hero.

They actually cast him in "Generation Kill" because they couldn't find another actor that was as convincing at playing him.

I'll leave you here to enjoy.

Have a great weekend!

More Arguments For National Service For Teens

I saw this video clip yesterday and sent it to every mother I know that is currently or has ever has raised a son.

Sometimes they do stuff so inanely stupid that you wonder if they should be in special education. I know mine does, and all of his buddies too. The act in the video looked exactly like something they would do.

I had to wonder though about the authenticity of this video.I did read the credits in the end and I am assuming that it was filmed as part of some stupid things high school students do reality show. When I was listening to that kid talk I just wanted to brain dust him. If you have not raised a boy yet, let me explain that a brain dust is where you take the flat of your hand and rapidly whack the back of your kid's head. It doesn't take much force and it hurts like hell if you do it right. I have a 100% success rate on pain and suffering, but the Teenager is getting where he can dodge me better. Plus I have to do it when he's sitting down or asleep because he's about five inches taller than me now.

However, even if it was totally staged, I know that it is probably based on a real event because I've seen my own child do this before. He and his idiot buddy used to go all around town with huge handlebar moustaches drawn on in magic marker. This was just last year, so yes they were high school students.

I'm going out of town again for the holiday. Unfortunately the Teenager has to work all weekend and cannot accompany me. I'm not dumb enough to think he's not going to party, it is Homecoming weekend AND the first Georgia game of the season. I just hope I've given him adequate reasons why he and his friends cannot party at our house, number one being that I will put him on restriction for the rest of his high school career until I can turn him over to some branch of the armed forces. I have noticed though that many third world countries use child soldiers and I'm thinking of taking him on vacation to Darfur to see if I can enlist him there to start his training. He's been dying to go to Africa anyway, how better to see it than a working vacation? I'll bet he gets some great pictures, it will be just like summer camp except with machine guns.

What teen aged boy wouldn't love that?

There is hope that my child will grow into a normal adult still. The kid in the video I'm not so sure about, but I'm sure there's an army somewhere in Africa that could use his comedic skills.

Tramp Stamp Or Born On Date?

"Even as he hesitated this incident occurred. A man of strikingly noble mien and graceful aspect appeared close at hand, and played upon a pipe. To hear him not merely some shepherds, but soldiers too came flocking from their posts, and amongst them some trumpeters. He snatched a trumpet from one of them and ran to the river with it; then sounding the "Advance!" with a piercing blast he crossed to the other side. At this Caesar cried out, 'Let us go where the omens of the Gods and the crimes of our enemies summon us! THE DIE IS NOW CAST!" --Suetonius "Life of Julius Caesar"

Yes, the picture above is my very new and slightly sore "Tramp Stamp". I couldn't pick a tribal design or the more mundane flower, mythical creature, or butterfly. Instead I chose to use my personal philosophy, "Alea iacta est" or "The die is cast", which is little more than a fancier way of saying "just do it".

The saying was attributed to Caesar as he crossed the Rubicon river to invade Rome on January 9th, 49 BC. According to Suetonius it was in Latin, however Plutarch disagrees and says Caesar said it in Greek. As I can read Latin, but not Greek, I chose the Latin version. Picking the exact phrasing was difficult as well since there are so many versions of the phrase, and some historians claim Caesar never said it at all. I was going to include the date below the lettering, but I was afraid someone would think it was my birthday and you know how protective I am about my age.

I spent the last five years deciding on this tattoo. I know I mull over things too much, but this was a permanent marking on my flesh. I had to decide if I really wanted to grow old with a tattoo, especially one that I would spend the rest of my life explaining the meaning of to people.

The next decision was who would do it. There are many tattoo parlors in Valdosta, but I've yet to see any exceptional work that has been done here.

After studying many people's tattoos, I did notice a woman in the belly dance class I take in Tallahassee having some wonderful work on her wrist and between her shoulder blades, so I finally worked up the nerve to ask her about it. She actually had a lot of really beautiful tattoos, but the ones I admired were done by a tattoo studio right next to the gym. Perfect! Her work had been done by Richard Davis at Fine Art for Life Tattoos, so I went to visit him one afternoon when class had finished.

Then I went off to think about it for another week.

The next week I was ready. I drew out the phrase and the dice for him just to give him a general idea of what I was looking for. He asked for about thirty or forty minutes so that he could get online and check out the history and what a pair of Roman die might look like. Karen (my terrifically tattooed friend) and I headed across the street to get some lunch while he did some artistic research.

When we returned, he had a few drawings for me to choose from. I liked the die from one drawing and the font for the lettering of another, so we just combined them and then chose the shading style. I chose nine for the face of the die obviously instead of the full date. Then we finished the paperwork and he went to prep his equipment.

I was glad I brought a friend, she kept up the conversation so that I didn't focus on how uncomfortable getting a tattoo actually is. I did expect some pain and it felt like razor cuts being made in my skin while he did the lettering. Eventually my lower back went completely numb and that did make it more bearable. Later I remembered I had some lidocaine ointment at home that I use before Fraxel treatments and could have kicked myself for not bringing it to numb up my skin.

I love my tattoo. I did worry before that I would regret it, but no, I actually fell in love with it the moment I got to see the red, swollen finished product.

And my friend was right, the moment you have one tattoo, you then want more. I have a friend in Atlanta whose sister is married to California tattoo artist, Kari Barba. Her work is just unbelievable, so I wouldn't mind having some of her work as well to decorate my back. Or another saying in Latin, you know how I love my Roman history.

The possibilities are tantalizing. This has been the best part of growing older and going out on my own career wise. I don't feel the pressure to conform to a certain image anymore. Years ago I took out my eyebrow ring because it embarrassed my kindergarten aged son. None of the other PTA moms had one and the Teenager has always been a bit of a preppy conformist. What other sort of child would a bohemian mother have? But I did it because I knew it was important to him, thus important to me. If me looking like the othe mommies made his life better, than so be it. I've never been judgemental about people's appearance, but I know that is not the norm, especially in a small, conservative town. Now he doesn't care so much, so it has been wonderful getting to claim myself back from the protective coloration I cloaked myself in for years.

Alea iacta est indeed.

This Is Why I Am A Patriot

The Teenager found this video last night after dinner and shared it with me. Not to give the impression that anyone is having a good time in Iraq right now, just the opposite. I'm glad that they can blow off a little steam by engaging in something this silly.

Some of those boys can seriously move.

Just a reminder: treat these guys (and girls) like gold when they finally get to come home. They've made a hell of a sacrifice.

And enjoy this video. Get up and dance with it if you get the urge.