thank you

i can't thank you enough for the messages, comments, calls and gifts. losing truman was such a shock.

he went to bed last saturday night with {what we thought} was the health of a pup. he definitely had the demeanor and show of dog with at least 3 or 4 years left. he woke up sunday morning, riddled with cancer, ready to die.

my o.c.d., my need to plan and prepare for everything, has been knocked out of alignment. like a disc that's been herniated, i crave to put everything back in its perfect, scheduled, peaceful, non-heartbreaking order.

 bitch twitch, who had disappeared, is back with full vengeance. if i knew where and what my chakras were, i'm supposing they're scattered in different counties, hamlets and cays getting their spring break on on my dollar and peace of mind.

i will emerge from my blue. i always do. usually i just had truman to help me.

and the sleaze goes on....

i'd like to preface this post by saying i truly, sincerely wished friday's confession would be a purge of my somewhat sooty ways.

a press of the publish button and i had hoped class and sophistication to magically fairy godmother themselves into my manners and circumstance.

i so badly want to be that girl: nary a hiccup in dress nor a stumble in decorum. i want to trombone out beautiful, tasteful soliloquies of peace and love, all the while wearing pretty dresses and sparkly headbands.

well, as an ex of mine used to say to me, with the warmth of  nurse ratched, {typically when my face was streaming with tears},

"it's good to want things."

so here goes my sojourn back into smut-ville:

it began with a text. not from me. to me. and to my friend alison*, FROM our mutual friend rachel*.

a photo text actually.

a banana.

with the caption "miss me"? underneath.

ok, we've all seen bridemaids by now; the cat is out the bag:

ladies can be just as salty as the gents....

obviously rachel wasn't asking for banana recipes from dee-jay burnt toast and sergeant take-out 7 days a week.

so we, the wilson phillips of harmonic obscenity, proceeded with our typical "reply all" racy text banter.

i think there was mention of lubricant.

and maybe a graphic reference or two to anatomy.

{my readership is dwindling by the sentence i know}

typical friday banter, mind you alison kept all of this up while volunteering in her youngest's first grade classroom;

talk about supermom.

thinking the filth-fest  had run its course, all of us returned to our afternoon duties: carpools, work, errands, etc;

when suddenly an unidentified number rings up alison:

a man, fury in his voice, rage in his belly, demanding to know the source of the inappropriate texts to his wife!!!!!

as alison gets lectured on text tact, the same unidentified number pops up on our conversation chain reading:

"so nice to see what the wives do during the day."

in her eager-beaver desire for bawdy banter, rachel had accidentally included her HUSBAND'S!!! number in our girl's only chat.

obviously mr. rachel wasn't too keen on midday texts to his wife involving astroglide and i'm pretty sure the word vag {soft g}.

luckily it was all straightened out....and yes!! another lesson learned.

i think.

i hope.

there's always tuesday.

*names have been changed to protect the not so innocent

pull my finger

lately i've had the brain and {cringe} mouth of a twelve-year-old boy.

pair those up with my mild case of turret's and i'm a walking, talking bah-dum-bum-CHING poster for crude.

the silliest, most inane, immature, off-color, quips kindle in my brain, and then WORSE!....escape from my mouth.

maybe it's the fact that hunkiest and i are childless.

there are no precious, impressionable ears around keeping us mannerly and genteel.

we've turned the household into a full-fledged judd apatow movie.

instead of our usual mushy texts and romantic phone calls to each other, we quote john c. reilly and now melissa mccarthy.

flirty and tender has taken a hiatus into frat-house hee-haw.

this vacation into vulgarity often snags me into the stickiest of predicaments.

tuesday at the market, my sweet friend edward, who has checked and bagged my groceries since he was 14 {i'm praying he's now 18}, was making his typical, polite conversation to me, captain foot in her mouth.

"did you see how big the zucchini is in that box?" he innocently asked.

scareeeeeeeeeeeeeech!!! my pen stops mid signature, my laundry list of  have to's ceases to nag me for the first time in 48 hours, and my inner hamster of anxiety and worry halts on a dime.

 it feels as if the whole market has come to a whisper halt.

oh no he didn't.

i could just let this go; ignore the easy set up.

but that would be like ignoring trash on the sidewalk; or a lost dog in the street.

it's a moral imperative that i follow through on the funny, right? at least that's what i told myself.

ugh!!!!!

head cocked, gaze fixed, edward locked in my crosshairs, i ask, á la anne bancroft,:

"what was that edward"? {knowing exactly what he had just said}

"the zucchini, in that box, it's HUGE." he repeats

more silence.

lot's of it.

and my stare.

i know exactly where i'm about to go and that i should stop it.

i call on buddhas, saints, wild horses. i conjure images of dead, mutilated, distracting kittens and i still can't rein it in.

i am powerless against my raunch.

"edward, this box doesn't settle for small zucchini."

{thumb to chest in best oc/cougar housewife impersonation}

yep. word for filthy word.

and poor sweet edward, eyes the size of airplanes, mouth wider than the nile; no ability to respond to my borderline pedophilia banter.

we silently finished the transaction; save for an eye contact avoiding thank you, and i was on my merry, lewd, humiliated way.

don't let the upturned collar and string of pearls fool you.

twirling skirts, peonies in pink, hugs not hate; they're all just micro bits in the batter of this freckled fruitcake.

deep down i have the mouth of a dirty whore and the impulsivity of a labrador puppy.

and you'd think i'd learn my lesson.

yesterday i was subbing a spin class. my regular crew is somewhat accustom to my tart tongue, but when going into a new class i try to keep on my toes: say very little, ease up on the hip-hop, and watch my verbage.

 but there i go, three minutes into class, Jay Z ripping his mf'ers, and rather than saying "go faster" like a proper teacher, andrew dice clay here told everyone to, "spank it."

waiting for my termination notice.

happy weekend bitches m'loves.

gaggle of giggles

at the height of laughter, the universe is flung into a kaleidoscope of new possibilities.

~jean houston

tossed and spun

he walked away.

this father of eight, walked away.

yes, he was a bit bloody and 40 minutes after impact, he still had hand tremors so violent he asked me to take photographs with my phone, but still:

he. walked. away.

a beautiful morning. too precious for me to rush in the fast lane.

radio off, windows down, i will not succumb to the madness of the freeway blitz:

a checkerboard of 2 ton torpedos ping-ponging traverse the asphalt, clocking up to 90 miles per hour, manned by monkeys updating their facebook status and lip gloss {concurrently}.

and just like that.... poof!

i see it happen 20 seconds before they do.

two cars, two drivers, two destinations.

too fast, too unconscious, too brash.

one swerve, one slam, 4 flips.

immeasurable damage.

drive safe m'loves.

remember the responsibility and privilege of the present.

peace and love

i destroy my enemies when i make them my friends.~abraham lincoln

hostility is such a bad color on me.

kindness brings out the green in my eyes, the broad of my shoulders, the glossy of my lashes.

in 5th grade kristy holdburg told me i was fat.

i retaliated by buying her the prettiest barbie i could find on her birthday.

at said birthday party, krystal des los reyes ratted to kristy's mom i'd been looking at a dirty magazine.

i wasn't.

krystal had been the one perving it up in the back bathroom with a playgirl.

but i made sure to give her the skittles from my goody bag.

my beasts and i may not speak the same language, but we understand each other precisely.

i love them fierce, they worship me without strings.

different creatures bringing our own messes and art into the world.

where others see dangerous drinking holes and snarly fangs,

i see nooks of opportunity and a sibling in the school of suffer.

go ahead bite. i'll just hug back.

35

35 years old.

3:34 am.

i release to you, my public, the grizzly, gory photo generating all the ado in washington and the like.

eyes puffy, one black and bruised from 3 rounds of acupuncture, the other peep swollen from last nights' bout with a soy sauce seasoned stir fry.

face bare, hair messy, heart un-concealed.

cheers to another candle on my advancing, educational, butt-kicking cake.

the re-touching this year will go towards my soul, spirit and spiel.

twin sister!  paging my twin sister!

come out, come out wherever you are!

alas billy goats, i don't really have a genetic duplicate....

can you imagine the world cheese shortage?

although i love the maggie q suggestions...

{well maybe not TWIN....more like distant, thinner, vietnamese cousin}

but if such genetic duplicate existed,

today i'd mortar and pestle my double into a fine, spreadable pesto, as we'd divide and conquer my whacked, over-committed day.

8 different places to be, two different counties, luggage to pack, beasts to feed and tangle with, and peeps who need to be squeezed and tucked.

i have another stab session with dr. sugar lips, and one big audition this morning.

fingers, legs, toes, eyes crossed that all goes well.

wednesday happy to you m'loves.

you'll poke yer EYE out!

twitchy is now going six weeks strong.

botox is out. a paralysis of the 24hr palpitate can't be guaranteed, and the risks of an imbalance in the face are high.

my chemical asymmetry and emotional incongruity are the rice and beans to my family of origin enchilada.

i don't need anymore imbalances on my plate.

yesterday i gave acupuncture a whirl.

contrary to what others say, those needles are sharp, they do hurt, and i bled.

the soothing sounds of pachebel piped over ocean waves, a sugary sweet gardenia candle, and the honey purr of my doctor's voice were the only things saving her {doctor} from an open palm smack each time she pricked me with one of those tiny, chinese voodoo pins.

diaphragmatically breathing in through the nose, and out through the mouth....i went to my happy place:

it's amazing what visualization can do for anxiety.

alas, bitch twitch still here.

she's actually a little amp'd up post STAB session, but dr. sugar-lips warned me that may happen.

perhaps twitchy likes chocolate candy bars.

more to follow.

tuesday happy to you m'loves.

no room for cream please.

it's my belief that some of the most interesting people in my life are those that serve me my coffee.

of late, my tea.

jefferey a born-again, post-pubescent, recently out of the closet starbucks manager, who fiercely insists my skirts are too too long and my make-up too too natural, has wrapped my heart around his spray-tanned, blonde highlighted, keith urban crushin soul.

allison, his co-worker, snuggled her way into my affection with her behind-the-counter bambi, shy sweetness, rainbow colored fingernails, and off-the-clock salty tongue.

down the street at peet's, i have tony. his piercings rival the mursi for inspiration and content.

i shudder with anticipation at what new plate, hoop or stud i'm going to meet at the front of the line.

tony mates his scary holes with a charming, genuine, southern gentility.

always a wordsmith, tony's answers to my "how are you?" tickle my roget bone daily.

yesterday tony was "unparalleled."

{big smile}

at my afternoon peet's {location #2} a completely different cast of characters lurks: younger, angst-ridden, pseudo depraved, totally loveable.

benjamen: an actor, a writer, an anarchist, a teddy bear.

somehow we actually became facebook friends.

his latest status updates were:

"shut up juice newton" and "i'm barefaced and look absolutely disgusting! i don't recognize myself."

rumor was he got fired. i like to believe he's off scribing his masterpiece, minus the madness, drink and drugs.

a girl can only hope.

boy made fine tasting lattés though.

yesterday i ambled into peet's #1 for an afternoon jasmine fancy green tea.

{4 days and counting coffee free}

as my fragrant, spring buds steeped, i struck up cashier conversation with the new, "barista in training", as she learned the ins and outs of register and customer care.

furthering my belief in the richness of coffee bar patron/server relationships i showed her my 5-year-old peet's 40th anniversary debit card; my intention was to point out my loyalty....seeing as how peet's is now having its 45th anniversary, and also my inane ability to waste plastic gift cards. merely a breezy, light chat as we waited for my tea to brew {one of the MANY downfalls of tea}.

apparently my words were too S.A.T. or my math too algebraic for baby trainee. rather than going along with her allegiant, coffee-deprived customer's story, or at least saying she didn't understand.....dumbass newbie said to me....

"oh...well you don't look like you're in your 40's."

??????????????????????????

nothing against the 40's. in fact, i'm more excited to get there than i am 35. but all in good time.

and i don't need to look younger than my age, but i definitely don't want to look a decade older!!!!

especially from some twit telling me the simpsons began before she was born.

i hereby recount all barista love.

they can suck it. they're always crapping up my order and sneaking in non-fat milk. are you trying to tell me i NEED non-fat?

and i mean, really? you KNOW large means venti!!!

i also kind of blame all this on tea.

bitch twitch

so give or take two weeks ago i became the proud owner of a twitch.

lower, right eyelid, 1 second intervals. 24 hours a day.

i felt the moment she {again like my cat i sense my twitch is a lass} commandeered my orbital socket.

a stressful telephone conversation; one better served me had i ranted and kicked rather than sweetly smiled and acquiesced.

a common coulda-woulda-shoulda jingle in my life.

*twitch*twitch*twitch*twitch*twitch*twitch*

my peeper beeper isn't overtly obvious, but a casting director did send me skidaddle after picking it up on camera.

what's going on with your eye?

ummmmmmmmmmm.....

my enigmatic sparkle? my fetching twinkle? my star quality?

couldn't i fill a niche like little people do? like heavily tattooed guy? super tan, wrinkled, old lady? i could be girl with fucked up, quivering eye.

the good wife should be calling any minute, right?

google {or as my mother calls it 'goggle'} says i need to relax and exercise.

yeah let me get right on that exercise.

for yesterday i was only able to get six hours of pilates and spin class in.

for now i'll make do with my quasi-quiet computer time; meditate into fields of dandelion peace and stillness.

om........

{lotus position, padma mudrā fingers, ujjayi breath, brain quiet, jaw soft}

dance party in my right eyelid.

scat

for the last week i've been the proud owner of a cat.

mint grey in color, pillow fluffy in make.

she won't tell me her name, but without invading her person i sense she's a she.

you know that sense?

you feel it when you choose your first summer peach, discerning the sweetest, juiciest of the crop.

or when you just KNOW your barista is going to mess up your order.

my brother and i made this assumption years before with a cat, bridgette.

found at the stables we raised that baby kitten into a grown lady, nuturing her to her first adult vet appointment.

whereupon dr. watson showed me first, and i pray last, cat testical.

alas, bridgette became "hans".

but back to my minty grey feline. our escapades are harrowing and white-knuckled;

mostly involving me saving her from calamity and harm.

last night my cat dangled herself between two spindles of a staircase, whose height kept getting higher off the ground the longer it took for me to save her.

her sweet little head would just about wedge free, until she'd kick up her leg, start to fall again, and the staircase would grow steeper away from the cold, tiled, kitten-splatting floor.

where is the mad hatter when i need him.

the night before my crazy cat leashed herself to me and we went for a stroll on the highway.

the 80's atari game FROGGER is still embedded in my brain.

as always with our adventures i am able to save my furry friend.

and thank god, i wake up.

i rarely have repetitive dreams, and frankly i'm not a fan.

especially with a cat. no offense to my kitten-caring friends;

i'm just an all dog kind of girl.

so scat cat!

go chase someone else's mice.

i much prefer my ohshitmyeconfinalistodayineverwenttoclassandiamnotgoingtograduatefromcollegenow nightmare instead.

weekend happy

wishing you a weekend filled with spring's finest pomp.

eggs sunnyside.

a back country road.

the breath of a puppy.

a bath of  sweat pea-scented bubble.

and sandy toes.

capping the night off with laughs in the belly, impromptu jitterbugs in the kitchen, and a restful, replenishing slumber.

weekend happy to you m'loves.

april showers

fierce, pounding drops of rain!

weep down on us.

purge the snark, distrust, and icky gossip lurking in those dark, unhappy, cobwebbed corners.

cleanse our palates so that we speak in crystalline, melodic, kind tongues.

words so jolly our eyes, mouths and feet all dance in time.

pool me speakers of still.

silencing those knowing best for me.

fool me twice, ten, twenty...i'm still a sucker for the soft smile of sorry.

weekend house

sunday afternoon, when my work week is finally done, i identify my target {bed}, lock in, aim body, and fire in for my long-awaited {well-deserved} nap.

the sounds of our house stir me into sweet compose.

at first blush a baby might even find the silence too still and lull.

but sit a moment.

eyes closed.

the house breathes, beats and reverberates a peaceful lullaby:

from our bedroom i can hear harbor boats blast their booming, deep hulled tenor as they signal around the bay; soulful hellos boasting their years here on the water.

downstairs the percussion pants of de-conditioned beasts unaccustomed to neighborhood walks in the springtime sun, beat time to creaking, cracking ankles of the beast walker; no longer the tennis star he was in his youth.

snip, snip, snap sound the garden sheers of my neighbor miles. retired, he tends to his japanese boxwood with the love and care of an old-fashioned courtship. next he attempts to tame his wild, unruly, hot-pink, tea roses who crisscross his white pickets with the sass and rebellion of a teenager. sadie, his portuguese water puppy, plays bunny-rabbit throughout the yard, greeting all who walk by with a lick and a hop.

a sleepy smile escapes my slumber when i hear my beloved sock slippering the hard wood halls, office to den, to check an occasional basketball score, and scour the pantry for something chocolatey and sweet.

squeaky wheels peep from the kids on their cruisers pedaling home from the beach. cheeks burned, sand in their suits.

weekend coming to a close. just like my nap.

i've always thought i looked my best after a nap. even with my eyes a little puffy, hair a bit here and there. i'm my most katie after my naps. especially on sunday afternoons.

especially in the quiet of my house.

rabbit white

good grief.

tis tuesday morning and already i'm skipping two stairs at a time to get it all done.

no time to say hello, goodbye!! i'm late!  i'm late! i'm late!

hoping for a tea party at the top of my staircase.

lapsang souchong in laura ashley porcelain.

maybe a scone? berry. heavy on the candied sugar.

watch my swan dive into the devonshire cream.

{a perfect 1o from the german judge}

a tuesday happy to you m'loves.

what's in your wand?

come on. spill it. you know you want to.

tell me how you weave your magic. and don't say you lack the beans to bewitch.

we all have them.

some are just deeply creviced, cardiganed behind a lifestyle of bland tasting humble pie.

show me your stuff.

do you glitter and glue? paint pictures so pretty girls grab their chests?

can you muse each and all into a runway silhouette with your fashion finesse?

do giggles and whoop trail your funny bone every where you trek?

does your sweet sounding soprano have the songbirds weeping with envy, as you lullaby the babes to sleep?

are you a guardian?

do you tend and soothe? balming broken hearts or scabbed knees?

can you wax rhapsodic with the shake of your hips?

do you write the words that make the whole world sing?

or do you writhe your sorcery into soufflés and sticky rice?

can you bring the beauty out of already the most beautiful?

maybe you don't yank rabbits from black top-hats or time travel into centuries passed.

but your powers are marvelous and impacting.

find yours, you have more than two...i know, and celebrate them madly.

the planet is a thirsty, dried out, dying fern waiting to thrive from a sprinkle of your magic.

if only a kind smile.

even if i haven't seen your face {although lucky for me many of you i have} or shared an afternoon of coffee;

you all, in your silent and not so silent ways, add magic to my life.

thank you m'loves.

party people

i went to a birthday party this weekend. stag.

hunkiest was out town at party of his own; of a stag nature as well.

yet the naughty these boys seemed to have found was of whiskey and lack of bug spray like.

for all his clinker and glee as he packs up his shiny 9 iron and polished 3 wood, that boy never fails to ring home, like a kid sick at camp, wishing to be picked up early.

he asks me what the beasts are doing, as if by some miracle they've suddenly acquired a new, people, {opposable thumb requiring} skill since he left town.

um, they're doing math homework??!? they're sleeping of course!! that's what our beasts DO baby.

we count the days, sometimes hours until he walks back through the door to his "family".

silly, but it's the kind of thing that still has me plan outfits days before i see him.....my brain's always working on our next date.

although hunky and i do enjoy each other's smile, chat and smooch, one of our strongest suits is our ability to hang separately.

at my party, the beautiful birthday girl wore a sash of pink and a tiara of tinsel;

i walked in knowing few and left loving many.

i wrapped my heart around a freckled girl with amber hair, who sat for hours with a strawberry taking each and every single seed off the pretty fruit; just because it felt scientific. she was sweeter than any candy colored cupcakes we ate together.

i ate a cobbler baked with berries and i felt a baby boy, who although won't officially be here until june, make his party presence felt in his momma's stomach.

a grand time had by moi'...and i couldn't wait to ring up my beloved and share.

spring rain

not exactly the get up i was donning in yesterday's torrential, power-outing, tree-uprooting, car washing {graçias}, patio furniture tossing {non-graçias} spring storm. but i do love a nice deluge.

and such a grand shower! ushering in spring, my favorite season.

buds, both in flower and human form, are ripe to bloom after a cold, tear-stricken winter. i thought to myself as the rain rattled the windows, nature is ensuring an extra pretty bloom, one last heavy douse of drink to give our branches and petals steadfast length and technicolor hue.

as a young girl, whenever i found myself with pocket of money: check from grandma or an easter egg from dad, instead of spending it down at the liquor store on powdery fun-dip or on the requisite green tongue inducing apple jolly ranchers, i'd make my way over to crabtree & evelyn for a bottle of spring rain bubble bath and shampoo.

i was obsessed with the fragrance: tea rose, lily of the valley and peony heavy. spring rain is one whiff into a jane austen countryside of bonnets and flirtatious romp. although, at 9 years old, i was more ramona and beezus rather than marianne and elinor, i understood the ability to transport and detach.

fantasy. make-believe. checking out.

spring rain let me escape to butterfly fields and family meals not eaten at a counter for 1. there was a lot going on in my house that required fantasy.

every so often i'll stumble in to a crabtree & evelyn store to smell spring rain and summer hill {what i'd move onto in june}. the scent doesn't appeal to me now so much. a little too strong, with too many chemicals. but i always sample the lotion. it reminds the candy store is open for business.

life is good. even the stuff that leaves a mark. i'm living my fantasy now.

monday happy....truly.

yesterday morning, while turning the pages of my sunday times,

yes, i still read my paper in paper form: black inked finger tips, loud rustling pages flapping in the porch wind,

occasionally catching fire from my fresh cut grass scented table-top candle, causing mass hysteria among the beasts and

just making me look plain silly as i hop up and down in my 1994 grey (once green) bathrobe in front of the passing

neighbors attempting to snuff out flying, fiery news embers.

but back to my reading. as i followed the front page story of japan's anguish onto pages 7 and 8

my attention kept diverting to the giant ads sandwiching the heartache.

i tried to read about chiyako ito's tearjerking story of her barn collapsing, flattening all her tractors and

cars, blocking any way to get food, water or any other aid.

yet, through those tears, bloomingdales kept dazzling me to the right and left with the of power of spring colorblocking.

apparently, an absolute must!!!

so there it is. bloomingdales solves the dilemma.

just what ms. ito needs. get her a nice little jil sander get up, and she's good to go.

food and water be damned.

albeit ridiculous, this dichotomy was exactly the laugh i'd been waiting for.

it lifted me up, a bit, from the heaviness i'd been feeling all weekend.

later on i was watching the documentary joan rivers: a piece of work,

{a great movie if you're on the fence about becoming an actor.....YOU WON'T after watching}

whether you find her funny or not she makes a good point: we need to find the humor.

she says when terrible, horrific things happen like 9/11, humor helps us get through the sadness.

it's true, when i think back to some of my bluest moments i can also remember some sick fits of laughter.

so i'm not only sending japan condolences and thoughts of love & support,

i'm also hoping they're able to find their smiles and good humor...maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon.

monday happy to you m'loves.