Talking me off of the ledge

I have known, since I was 8 or 9, that my dad is nuts. Sorry, organizations that want to keep the word "crazy" out of the vernacular, but it's true here. He is wacko, bonkers, off his rocker.

The hard part, of course, is that his crazy always centered on me. During his psychotic breaks, he blames me for every ill ever bestowed on him - from the mailman's misdirection of mail to the fact that the radio talks to him (and tells him to do bad things). I wanted to point out the fact that the radio waves are beyond my control, but it didn't seem to make much sense when I'd be hiding in the cellar, waiting for him to come completely unglued - or show up with candy to apologize.

I don't talk about my dad much. I try not to relate the state of marriage number 1 being so completely and total tangled up with the state of relationship with dad (this would be the guy that caused me great harm). Those two men were cut from the same cloth. It just happened that both of them are fractured in all the wrong places.

The past week has been full of opportunities to hear about his impending meltdown. I knew it was coming, yet I still, as usual, had hope that it wouldn't impact me, at 41 and with a family of my own, as deeply as it has in the past. But he found a way to get to me, through the kids. And the new scars that appeared today were deep and mean and just as vicious as if I'd been 9 years old and helpless.

This man leaves me feeling helpless when he finds a happy memory of my childhood - a very rare and magical thing for me - and he finds a way to destroy it. This time, it was a place he ripped to shreds, a memory or two of happy times with a family that wasn't in crisis. I so lived for the few, rare glimpses of normalcy. I had it in my head that these two or three locales were safe from his destruction.

But nothing is safe when a madman is involved.

He made what was once a beautiful place feel dark and sinister. And he took a beautiful day of freedom that I greatly needed feel like a sham.

I still have my mountain, and all the places that he has not touched in my world. And I refuse to allow his dark agenda touch my life, or the lives of my kids, anymore. Tonight I had to have the "grampa isn't a safe person" talk. Again. But this time it's for good. I don't intend to see him again until his funeral.

Because sometimes you just have to choose to be safe, no matter how the rest of your family treats you for this decision. And the grief that will pour over me will be like a tidal wave. But I will be safe. And my children will be safe from his poison. And the world will be as it should be - it will be mine.

Another blanket story

I've had lots of neat stories shared about making forts, watching monster movies and Sunday afternoons from the last blog, Under Covers. It got me thinking about how much I like having a blanket in the back of the car to throw down someplace and picnic, nap or play a game with the kids.

When the kids were little, we used to make frequent road trips to the beach, the mountains and lots of local adventures. There wasn't a park that we didn't try out in our neighborhood. Games of wall ball were organized, sandwiches and juice boxes were shared, cookies were devoured.

As they got a little older and I went to work, I kept a blanket in the back of the car for days I needed a little sun, an escape, or some time spent with a friend. I really believe blankets must have magical powers - kind of like the towel joke that runs through The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. I can't leave home without it.

As I pack for an adventure to Frog Lake today, I remember years of special moments this blanket has shared.

When the kids were about 7 and 8, I babysat to help make ends meet. The kids loved our little adventures and we went to the Shakespeare Garden at the International Rose Test Gardens in Portland's Washington Park for a romp. Check out some beautiful rose photos here.We got to see a magical moment in some people's lives when an impromptu wedding happened to take place. I still have that blanket we were sitting on when this beautiful group of a dozen or so people appeared.
That day will forever stick in my mind as magical. As will another one, when I fell in love in this garden. Walking hand in hand with someone very special through the mazes of flowers and plants, talking about dreams and hopes and sharing stories. The blanket that was our nest that wedding day as we enjoyed the magic still travels with me. Maybe it's ready for another adventure. Picnic, anyone?

Under covers

When I was a little girl, I used to hide under the covers with my best friend and very cool neighbor, Jean. She was a year younger and very quiet and shy, just like me.

We'd spend our Saturday afternoons watching Monster Movies - Godzilla, Gamera, Mothra.... and hide under blankets when we got creeped out by the giant monster on the humongous 14" color tv screen. Under the covers was safe from anything and we would tell each other secrets where nobody else could hear us.

We also liked to make tents and spend hours under the blankets reading our favorite books. For me, it was Laura Ingalls Wilder and Little House. For her, it was Nancy Drew mysteries. I'd imagine myself in a family where dad loved his kids, worked hard and was kind. She imagined danger and adventure.

As we grew up and grew out of the monster movie stage, our lives went in different directions. I still think of her fondly - and I'm especially grateful for her introduction of under the covers. For me, that's a perfect place to feel safe and to share.

I'd like to thank the academy...

Wow. My first Blog Award!! I'm almost speechless. Really! (I know, your inner voice is saying, "What does she mean? She never shuts up!!")

So, my darling friend Fireblossom, who believes the spirit of Bill Cosby lives inside her toaster, has nominated me. If you haven't seen her fantastically twisted alter ego at Objects d'Art, get thee over there for a peek. She isn't just the most expressive writer of beautiful words at Word Garden, you know. I laugh so hard I have to wipe tears. I think I could have a thing for RRRRRRaoul... where do I get me one of those house boys?

Anyway, the award comes with strings. I have to write about why I blog and then I get to pass the torch. WAIT - don't touch that dial!! I've asked this question before, but I think I've discovered one of the minor eddies in the space time continuum here. And it's a doozie.

I blog for different reasons at different times. Sometimes I don't write at all - and usually not because I have nothing to say (does she EVER shut up??? somebody throw a monkey at her!!) Wait - does that make me COMPLICATED??? I probably have 30 blog posts in my queue that will never see the light of day. I read and reread them over warm strawberry pop tarts.

I've had people ask me if I write because I have to get things out or they'll make me nutty. (Like I'm not already there. I mean, who has peanut butter on their multi-grain eggos?) I didn't write for days over the holiday weekend and I saved up ideas for posts that should last me for a week. When I'm blissfully happy, I have a tendency to write less, if at all. When I'm busy and stressed, I write a lot more. How does that work?

Writing as therapy? Yeah, probably, but not always.

The most important reason I write is to stay connected. There are people that are extremely important to me that are too far away. I miss them. I want to keep them close. I write little hidden messages into my posts for them, because they're always with me that way. Many new friends from the blog world visit me and I visit them and we share our love of sharing silly things and important things. That's pretty cool.

I write because I love words. Because my 9th grade English teacher, Miss Leppart, used to sing opera as she walked the halls and was the coolest teacher ever. She taught me to form thoughts with a pencil before you say them in your voice - and never to start a sentence with "and". Oops...

Now, I'd like to bestow the lovely award upon Dawn, who, I recently discovered, I have lots in common with. Plus, she's cool. Hi Dawn!!

Now go out and write something, people!

Please hold while we access that information

Apologies, first of all, that the last 2 blogs I've written have disappeared. I'm having google blogger issues - as I've heard other people are, as well - and I will try to recover and repost them. They were fabulous. You'd laugh, you'd cry, you'd endeavor to comment.

Random is a word that suits me well. I am a very random person at times. Currently, I'm on heavy duty allergy meds and feel less random and fun that usual, but that'll only last a couple more weeks. Can you imagine how dull I'd be if I was still taking those antidepressants that turned me into a zombie? Talk about the dead zone... So I though some fun of the random sort would be good the first day back to work after a holiday weekend.

So, today's game, boys and girls, is a game of random things. The photo below was taken at the NAMI walk a couple weeks back. Make a comment about it and provide the dialog that you think was going on. The photo's subjects will vote on their favorite comments and the winner will receive a monkey. Seriously. OK, not a LIVE monkey. But a monkey*. To allow for easy commenting, the girl on the left in the braids is Girl #1 and the girl on the right is Girl #2.

Go to town, people, let's see how creative you can be.






















*Monkey will be selected upon completion of contest. You may enter as often as you'd like. Any monkey-borne diseases or monkey-related injuries are not the responsibility of the contest sponsor. Any monkey received by the designated winner will be shipped to the address of such person at sponsor's discretion and leisure. No guarantees are made on monkey's friendliness or huggability by sponsor. Replacements will not be made for pet-eaten-monkey-disasters. Contest ends Monday, June 1, 2009. Non-transferable. Void where prohibited.

WWBD?

A horrible evening followed a truly hideous afternoon here in pheromone land. If it weren't for best friends like Riot Kitty, the world may come to a screeching halt. Or, a gallon of ice cream might be consumed under the covers.

BUT NO! A new solution has appeared on my horizon and I have developed a new, improved alter ego. And she's badass.

What Would Betty Do? Yes, boys and girls, Betty Page - that maven of rubberized clothing, long before her time a gothic princess in white face and red lips. She kicked butt back in the day - and took crap off nobody. I want to be like her when I grow up mommy! Check it out...

1) Your boss yells at you. Your coworkers snicker behind your back. You have to take ugly, creepy carpet salesmen to lunch and end up groped against your will. Mild mannered Pheromone Girl would only report it to her boss and ask to not have to talk to said creep again. BUT NO! Enter Betty, ruler of her own domain and a couple belonging to strangers.

REWIND: Creepy carpet guy starts his hijinx. Out comes the Betty in you and you smack him in the head with a margarita glass the size of a rhino and laugh all the way out the door. Wow, that felt good.

2) Your children are whiny and annoying. A lot. They won't do what they're told or leave each other alone or even get out of bed sometimes. You try to reason with them and they ignore it. You go to bed, frustrated that they're too old to spank. Or leash.

REWIND: Kids are whining, smacking each other and basically behaving like cave people. Out comes Betty, roaring like a lion, and the kids are so scared you don't even have to crack the actual whip. Twice. But you do it anyway, because you're Betty.

3) You're having a bad day. Yeah, nobody has cancer and everyone has enough to eat, at least for now, and you shouldn't have anything to complain about. But someone to talk to would be nice. However, the male figure that's supposed to take that role is too busy wallowing in his own muck. Spend hours reaching out, sending little messages and being oh-so-syrupy sweet, all the while seething that you are invisible. Designate yourself as invisible in your facebook status. After continuing to be ignored (hello??? anybody out there???), go to sleep and pout.

REWIND: Poor me, boo hoo, life sucks.... and here comes Betty. She shares her bustier collection, paints your toenails black and reminds you that sometimes, you just need the girls. (Go Betty!!)

4) Stupid dog walkers at your park decide to let their dog off leash. Isn't that cute? Except that its making a mess of the duck pond, eating all the flowers and terrifying the ducklings on the bank and basically making a nuisance of itself. You try to be reasonable and talk to the owners with no luck. Go inside and debate the merits of living in a high rise.

REWIND: Betty emerges, leash in hand, and proceeds to tie the dog to the pole in the center of the casting pond. Owner has a choice - wade out about 50 feet in unsanitary, green, slimy water to rescue the dog paddling pet or let it drown. Betty recommend the latter. One less golden retriever in Portland would be no big loss.

5) At a meeting, a stupid, bigoted, slightly insane person starts threatening you and spewing toxic garbage. You spend the next ten minutes getting the meeting back to order and trying to get the moron to shut up. A martini is the only thing that saves your sanity.

REWIND: As the idiot starts to scream at you, Betty enters quietly from the laundry room. The stupid little bigoted bitch doesn't see the whip coming, but she'll feel the welt when she wakes up tomorrow.

Oh, my. I like this Betty. And talking about her just makes me feel better. I think I'll save her for next time and ask myself "What would Betty do?"

At the carnival with the freaks and geeks

All the balls hit the floor this afternoon. When you're a juggler, having any one of the items you're juggling hit the floor amounts to a fiasco. When you're a human being, having everything crash down around you amounts to the same.

OK, I'm being overly dramatic. Running on a little too little sleep and even less patience. Some people are mean, some people suck, some people don't understand the challenges someone besides themselves can be facing.

Yesterday, I ran a complete fiasco of a meeting, right into an oncoming train. I was called every reverse-bigot name in the book - stupid white bitch, whore in the fancy car, nigger hating white fuck, gold-digging whore, as my boss sat by and did NOTHING. Because, after all, as a kind, considerate white girl (why does my skin color matter?? unless she's a bigot??) who sits at the head table, I don't deserve the same respect I show people of any color, orientation or personality disorder.

I wish I'd been juggling fire. Maybe one of the stupid, drunk, loser of a human being's in the back - who wouldn't even identify themselves - would have caught. Instead, I have every intention of making a statement without saying a word.

There will be a security guard at the next meeting. And I'll personally escort the president of the board out if necessary. Revolt happens, and I will not put up with this from anyone, especially my boss. Or her drunken husband. And I have a majority of votes that say the same thing.

She shouldn't have messed with me on such a perfect day.