Name: michelle
satisfied
0101
120Pages
ambrosia placebo
americangirl
banzai descent
bluematrix
coopergreen
eunmi
Food Network
konpesyon
maybeknott
muskrat28
Pancakes4Dinner
postsecret
Rustymadgal
stillirise
thesimplelife
threadbared
WritersQuill
today
June 2006
May 2006
April 2006
March 2006
August 2005
July 2005
February 2005
January 2005
December 2004
November 2004
October 2004
September 2004
August 2004
July 2004
June 2004
May 2004
April 2004
March 2004
February 2004
January 2004
December 2003
visited *loading* times
My dad singing show tunes, that is how I will remember our beach vacation. Everything seemed normal until we started to drive home and my dad pops in the soundtrack to Evita. “Have you seen this movie? Madonna is awesome in it!” From that statement there, I should have encouraged him to pull over and let me drive because he must have been drunk. If singing like Madonna wasn’t bad enough, he started doing a dance routine that involved jazz hands. “My people adore me…….. So Christian Dior me…..” He goes on to another routine where apparently women smoke and march only seeing as how we were in the car, he lifts up his knees for the full effect.
In another embarrassing moment involving my parents, my mom painted a picture in my mind that should be considered child abuse. It all started when my sister felt the need to tell us about her trip to the fertility doctor and what her husband’s role will be. Believe me, you don’t want me to go into details but let’s just say my brother in law has an appointment with some dirty thoughts and a cup. After further explanation, my mom says, “Remember Doug, they had to stick some tube up your rectum back in our days of fertility doctors?” If you could see the look of horror on my face, it would have explained it all. “Mom, I can’t believe you said that!” “Oh honey, it’s just science.”
Dear Cotton Mouth!
I hate you. You always spoil my night. Now I shall flush you away with gallons of water. Next time, find someone else to harass.
My lover will be arriving in an hour. I adore having someone by my side who craves my body as we engage in a lovers chase. He’ll lay his hand on the back of my neck underneath my hair, touching my earlobe every so slightly. I’ll whisper my plans of fucking him while he pretends he’s not turned on. This party will merely be foreplay.
The school called today, someone pushed spirited kiddo off the slide and he’s crying uncontrollably. I was impressed by how calm and collective I looked on the outside but inside my guts were on fire. After speeding and praying, I finally arrived and sprinted to his class. He was in shock, pale with bulging eyes glazed over. The x-rays revealed a fractured clavicle. It’s amazing you can love someone so much that it aches. You’d trade your life for their happiness. Now he’s on the couch wearing a tiny sling and my heart breaks.
Every year for Fiesta my dad would pile us into the station wagon; drive through KFC for some fried chicken which I thought was a delicacy and pick up my Puerto Rican Alzheimer stricken grandmother on the way to see the fireworks. Why?
Not two seconds after we’d be in the car my grandmother would ask, “What are we doing here?” or “Doug, who are these girls with you? They’re your granddaughters, mom!”
Man he used to get so mad at here like she was being annoying on purpose. I’d ask my mom, “Doesn’t he know she can’t help it?” She’d say, “Yes dear, but he’s having a hard time with it.”
There we’d be on an itchy blanket or aluminum camping chair hoping grandma wouldn’t ask another question or mention the dirty kids around us, “Don’t their parents even care?” she’d ask loud enough for the parents to hear. My dad never even noticed the fireworks once they started because he was too busy planning our escape route. He hated traffic, especially traffic going no where. As soon as he’d sense the grand finale, we’d have to start packing, hacking off all the people around us of course. Out of embarrassment, I would beg him to stay until the end but it never worked.
Tonight as we waited and waited for the fireworks, I was sure my son would remember the days with his two favorite people in the entire world but after the first explosion, he wanted to go back home. I sat there thinking of my dad and how proud he would be of me making my family enjoy an evening out no matter how painful it got.
Altoids make me sneeze.
I drink my coffee every morning in a cold bath.
I fantasize about my husbands boss.
In college, I was the music buyer for a retail chain of Christian bookstores.
I listen to rap when knitting.
I wanted to be a professional water skier.
I had a cell phone for a month but threw it away after people kept calling me.
Today I mowed the grass.
My signature dishes are egg rolls, chicken and dumplings, and red velvet cake.
I sleep with a fan at the foot of my bed.
I’ll be in Vegas May 12th.
Today I award myself with this beautiful bronze statue of a mom. No matter what angle you hold the trophy, you can’t see her because she’s shielding her eyes in shame. While my son was eating his lunch, I casually opened the pantry door and used it as a shield while I opened his chocolate Easter bunny and bit off the ears. After getting away with it, I went back for seconds.
In an earlier shameful parenting moment, I encouraged my child to pee in public. Not out in the open but like a bum, peeing on a graffiti wall in a dark parking garage. Let me set the scene. Today is the start of Fiesta which is a huge party downtown so I had the bright idea to drag my son downtown for the opening ceremonies. Everything was going well until they started throwing party favors into the crowd.
The beaded necklaces meant to delight children of all ages, came flying from the sky like a stray bullet which he caught between the eyes. After what seemed like I an hour due to carrying a 40 pound crier on my hip, we made it to the parking garage.
“Mommy, I gotta go potty!” There it was, those parenting words that hit when you’re in the middle of no where so I did what any exhausted parent would do, (or so I told myself) I told him to pee on the wall, “just make sure no one sees you.”
It’s still early in the afternoon so I thought maybe for my last trick, I could get him to play with some broken glass or give him a hammer to drop on his toe.
As she headed towards the gold Saturn she hated, she noticed him get into his BMW. She felt like the only one without a nice car but knew it was paid for. Seeing him reminded her of high school. He was quiet and funny and beautiful. He was still beautiful, and so were his kids.
“We’ve all gotten older,” she thought. Looking in her rear view mirror, she noticed a wrinkle and eyebrows in need of a wax. Wishing she had taken better care of herself, she made a mental note to eat the apple lying on the counter when she got home.
She watched him at the light, the way his watch looked so big peeking out from a starched shirt, resting on the steering wheel. By now she was supposed to be beautiful and confident. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she thought as she watched him turn into the gated community next to hers. We’ve all settled into our lives, into our selves. This was it.
Anger has subsided. I feel like a watermelon that’s been spliced down the middle and set on a lime green formica table, black bullets prominent against the faded pink insides like my bitten tongue. The vapors of what gave it life floated away from the heart leaving mush with an unchanged shell. Someone poked a straw in and sucked my life through the hole, only stopping when a pit blocked its tunnel. Before the black weightless bugs accumulate, take me to the curb.
My husband was rough housing with spirited toddler when he lost his grip. Down came my beautiful baby on a jagged rock. Out came blood from a busted ear and an injured shoulder. Today I’m pampering him because he’s not using his arm much and he’s as quiet as a church mouse. The problem is that besides the kiddos pain, is my raging anger. I know hubby felt horrible but I’m glad. I never scream or yell because my silence says it all. I thought I’d be over it today but I’m madder than hell still. I thought a good night sleep would help but he’s holding his arm to his side like a broken wing. Nothings broken but he’s crying from a torn muscle. I’m so fucking mad that men feel like they have to rough house with boys. All day I teach him manners and kindness and in an instant, dad comes home and they’re acting like wild animals. Did I tell you I was angry? I understand he’ll get hurt, it’s only natural but when someone hurts him because he’s being a fucking idiot, than that’s a problem. I can't get that image out of my head of him being dropped on the rocks and screaming in pain!
It didn’t take long before my lover noticed my thong which meant I was to be fucked, hard. While feeling his cock under the table I tell him to be patient. His fingers enter me as I drive to a bed where now he lies sleeping. How anyone can sleep in the middle of the day is beyond me but I want more. Silently, I masturbate to his nakedness.
All five of us crammed into my tiny bathroom, ready to turn out the light. The blonde went first, holding up a black light while we stood there horrified. We each took a turn staring in amazement at what the black light revealed, irreversible skin damage! This was just the beginning of my spa party. Our friend instructed us to wrap our feet in plastic bags while we sit back and visualize a peaceful place. I envisioned everyone leaving my house before midnight. The problem with women and products that take care of us is how much hurt they bring up. Once we start pampering ourselves, we become angry remembering it’s been way too long since we’ve done anything remotely relaxing so we start complaining that no one appreciates us. Combine that with wine and the next thing I knew, we were all back in my bathroom trying to console the blonde with sun patches. Women bonding make me uncomfortable so I offered her a trial size chemical peel to perk her up. Another memorable party.
It happened, the day I had been warned about from veteran moms. Mrs. Dusty pulled me aside and let me know my spirited toddler had another kid in a headlock at the playground. She suggested we had a talk with him about being too rough. After I stop being dramatic and wipe away my tears, I’ll sit down and talk to my beautiful bully.
I got my period once at summer camp. Considering this was my second time to ever see blood between my legs, I was unprepared. My first one was at home, in a controlled environment where I was afraid to leave the toilet let alone the house. My second was on my top bunk at His Hill; His, as in God’s. That day, I was scheduled to go canoeing but faked an illness and insisted I stay in bed. I was too confused and embarrassed to ask for help let alone a maxi pad. Instead, I stayed in my sleeping bag crying, wearing jeans and trying to keep my legs shut so tight, nothing would leak out. There I was while everyone was down the hill rappelling and swimming, I was in the ark. We didn’t sleep in cabins, but “arks.” I guess they thought God would think it was clever. The ark consisted of twelve beds, mine positioned across from Stacey, the cool counselor. She was cool because she was in charge and she had a boyfriend. Next to everyone’s bed was a shelf. Typically it was the candy shelf and hair bow shelf but Stacey’s was a boyfriend shelf. She had pictures of him and ticket stubs I assumed were from hot dates where they made out. As I lay there, I noticed a note folded neatly waiting for me to read. While squeezing my legs, I climbed down and read her private letter that would forever change my summer camp experience. Inside, Stacey’s boyfriend told her he felt guilty after having sex but he loved her. There before my eyes was proof that my perfect, role model Christian counselor had had sex. I told everyone with ears her dirty little secret which made me cooler than her in an instant.
The neighbors behind our house have six lights on their back porch, two of which shine into my retinas all night long. I got blinds and curtains but it’s still keeping me up at night. First, I politely knocked on their door but no one would ever answer so I left a note on their car. I was overly nice asking them to please point the lights down but my pleas went unanswered. Next, I called the homeowners association leading them to send a note but again, they were stubborn so I devised a devious plan involving rope and mirrors. You know, give them a taste of their own medicine. Well, it’s amazing, one night with mirrors reflecting their own annoying lights back at them worked! With pleasure and guilt, I imagined them squinting and trying to sleep in vain like I have been for the past four months. Now if I can just figure out what to do with that freakin’ hound dog to our left. One siren is all it takes to get a full neighborhood choir going.
“Look, that’s them.” “Oh, those poor girls.”
I was no better than the rest of them as I stood there gawking at the little girls I had wondered about for the past two months. You see, their dad shot their mother before killing himself. I wondered if they slept at night. I wonder who found them crying. I wonder how such young souls could endure pain because standing two feet from them, my own soul caved in.
Today alone I had the privilege of having meaningful, honest discussions with three important women in my life.
The first one I confessed my past struggle with depression leaving me vulnerable until she shared her struggle as well.
The second one told me I had hurt her. After reflecting on her words I apologized.
The third one I let know she was putting me in an uncomfortable situation and asked her to stop which she respected. Today, my honesty set me free.
You’re not going to believe the drama that’s going on right now. Here’s the scoop if you can keep up. My new friend Shelley has a home based business selling skin care. Being a nice friend, I mentioned being willing to try her stuff hoping to get some samples. I asked her a couple of times until finally one day she brought me this huge gold bag filled with seven products. They weren’t sample size but actual bottles so I kept going on and on about how nice that was and if she was sure she wanted me to have it and she went on to tell me how she really believes in her product blah blah blah. Anyway, not only did she bring me a bag but one for my sister and one for my mother so I was excited to spread the love and give them their goodie bags via Shelley. After a week went past, Shelley called and asked for the bags back. At first I thought that was weird that she wanted the gold bags but they were pretty fancy so as awkward as it was, I called my sister and she brought hers over. Next, I called my mom but she said she gave it all to my cousin for a birthday gift. She regifted my free gift. Oh well. Thank goodness she called my cousin with a lame excuse and got the bag back for me.
Two days later, I invite Shelley and her family over to dinner which was lots of fun until the end when I handed her back the bags. “Where’s all the product?” she asked. So I said, “Oh you wanted the samples back too?” At this point I’m freaking out because I know my mom doesn’t even have hers. I call everyone up to get our bags together and but my mom wasn’t sure what to do. Before I know it, Shelley calls my mom, asks here how she’s liking the skin crap and tries to sell it to her which is weird considering she’s my friend but I guess that’s what makes a good saleswoman. Well, my mom had no choice but to tell her she’d like to buy everything that was in the kit. $265.00!!!! Now it’s awkward because I feel like my friend scammed my mom. Now what do I do?
In my twenties, I reached for the highs in life. Drinking a little too much at a party or being in one too many relationships, trying to maintain on top of the world. I thought to feel good was to feel it until I couldn’t stand the feeling any longer. Figuring out just how far things should go is a part of discovering who you are and who you want to be but I’m not there anymore. I realized that it’s not the highs that I’m seeking anymore but the mediums. It’s not that I’m settling but being content where I am and when I’m there is truly an art. Every once in awhile I get that high and I remember how good it feels but before I know it, it’s gone so I can get wrapped up into finding it again. Those brief moments where a light goes off and you realize you’re happy at that moment and it feels good is what I’m after. There’s no need to be the wild one but to just be the happy one. Myself.
Three days ago, my mother discovered I was a whore. Let me set the gruesome scene but I warn you, it’s disturbing on so many levels.
It’s about three in the afternoon. My sister is driving and I’m her copilot on the way to a fun weekend at the beach. The cutest four year old is in the back making his grandmother crazy with knock-knock jokes so she pulls out the portable DVD player. “Wow, this DVD player is hot” She says, “How do you open it?” Curious, I reach around the back and open it for them. Well what to my wondering eyes should appear? Two girls and a dildo. I must have turned it on accidentally when I attached the battery but never realized it because it wasn’t open. Anyway, my mom instantly reaches over to block the view from my son while he starts screaming, “Stop covering my eyes!” I start screaming, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” My mom starts screaming, “You’re a whore! How could you do this?” Toddler starts screaming, “What’s a whore?” At this point I’ve lost control. Freaking out, I reach for the phone to yell at hubby but I have to talk in code because my mom is chanting The Lords Prayer. After unsuccessful phone charades, my sister just yells out, “We saw your porn!” Here we go again, toddler starts asking “What’s porn?” Sitting there in shame, I knew life would never be the same. Forgive my Lord, for I have sinned
This morning I woke up and went to Jazzercise. Normally, exercise isn’t on my list in the morning but I felt so guilty for overindulging the last two days that I panicked. I thought an hour of jiggling my junk would rid my body of the alcohol and chocolate but I kind of left waterlogged and dizzy. Of course the instructor was a pretty twenty something with zero percent body fat. If that wasn’t bad enough, she kept going on and on about just having a baby and how she quickly fit back into her jeans but still felt fat. I wanted to take my water bottle and chug it at her but my arms were too weak from the two pound weights.
Template by motime.com | header image credit: Markus Gann © www.begann.de