Shifty-Eyed Evader or Unblinking Intimidator?

So where are YOU on a scale between shifty-eyed evader and unblinking intimidator?  I’d like to say I’m somewhere in between.  Pretty much right around the “Stink Eye” marker.  In my youth, I was told that my glare could melt stone…but I’ve mellowed out in my old age.  Now my glare only melts ice and I make actual eye contact with people.

Truth be told, the type of “eye” you give or get depends on the situation at hand.  For instance, if you let one rip during Wednesday night communion, then you will get a grab-bag of nasty looks.  If you believe you have magical powers and can re-arrange someone’s face from a distance, then chances are you’re an Unblinking Intimidator.   It’s easy to spot the Shifty-Eyed Evaders.  Just shine a flash-light in their face and ask them where they were on the night of May 12, 1985, at approximately 10:42 pm.

I will now share with you my top ten facial expressions that I use on a frequent basis.

1.  The Blank Stare

2.  The Petulant Pout

3.  The Grisly Grimace

4.  The Sho-Nuff Snobby

5.  The Snarky Snarl

6.  The Aggravated Because You Just Did Something Holy Stupid look

7.  The Nonchalant Side Glance

8.  The Irked & Irate Wide-Eyed Combo

9.  The Disgusted Snortle

10.  The Contempt Crusher…reserved for Mediacom and the Credit Bureau.

Paper Shoes!

Don’t you just love paper?  I do.  I love paper.  I want to make myself a paper dress.  I’d always thought paper shoes were out of the question.  UNTIL!  Lookie here!  I found paper shews!  The Cinderella princess shoe is actually part of a Glamour Princess printable party pack you can find HERE….for free!

The baby shoe template can be found HERE.  I think they’re a great idea for baby shower favors.  Or cats.  Whatever.  Get some scissors and carry on.

Word of the Day: Cathartic

Cathartic [ca·thar·tic] adj. Producing a feeling of being purified emotionally, spiritually, or psychologically as a result of an intense emotional experience or therapeutic technique.

I found it cathartic to publicly confess that I peed in the pool.

Summer Vacation and Low Expectations

First day of summer vacation here.  When I say “vacation”, I mean the kid is out of school and in need of food and festivities.  Cali is one of those kids who has to be engaged from the rooter to the tooter; otherwise, she’s like one of those “Lord of the Flies” kids.

Every summer vacation starts the same.  Planning the calendar, scheduling stuff, making treats.  But after the 5th day in, I’m usually screaming, “Dear god make the pain go away!!”  And Cali is screaming, “I hate you and want new parents and a mansion!”

So this year I’ve set my expectations rather low.  I accept that I’m not one of those Bloggy Moms who appear to lead perfect lives via their websites.  I like to tell myself that they drink heavily behind the scenes and wear girdles.  I also accept that my kid isn’t one of the angels from a GAP commercial who skips and smiles.

So maybe this summer will be better, what with the bar set so low and all.  It’s 8 a.m. and Cali is out there in the pool jabbering loudly to the dog….no doubt making ALL the neighbors clap with delight.  Ordinarily this would bother me.  Today, it does not.  I went outside in boxers and no make-up.  Ordinarily THIS would bother me…but today it does not.  May have something to do with the PMS.  It’s hard to say for sure.

At any rate….here’s what’s on today’s agenda:

*  Construct a fairy house

*  Try to keep Cali from eating all the Jello cups in one sitting

That’s pretty much it.  I’ll post pics later to document my success or failure.  Hopefully by then I’ll have pants and make-up on.

Lazy Treasury Day

I know, I know….it’s been a few days.  But I have a good excuse….pretty much.  Cali’s graduation and my art show were on the very same weekend….then I helped with her end-of-school party.  Now it’s summer vacation and I’m busy planning ways to keep the kid from chewing off her arm from the magnitude of sheer boredom.

So.  It’s a lazy post today.  Here are some of my recent Etsy treasuries you can peruse at your leisure.  Just click the pic!

No Place Like Gnome

Hats of Quirk

Friday’s Child…is Loving and Giving

Be An Opener of Doors

Pinwheels Turning

Soul Mates

Scents that Evoke Memories and Incite Inhumanity

I have a sense of smell that borders on being scientifically freakish. I could tell you, with pin-point accuracy, where you’ve been since you rolled out of bed, just by smelling the lapel on your jacket. No man has or will ever cheat on me because they know I’ll smell their mess 10 miles away.

I spend a small fortune every month on Febreeze plug-ins. A few years ago, my family had to intervene and send me off to addiction camp because I was spending all my money at Ye Olde Candle Shoppe every Friday. (That’s when their votives were on sale for 50 cents.)

So due to this mutation, I have strong reactions to olfactory hiccups. Sometimes I’ll catch a whiff of the cinder-block shower room from summer camp and get the strong urge to put on my $1 flip-flop shower shoes that my mom forced me to take so I wouldn’t catch the Foot Funk. Bowling alleys give me the dry heaves. And don’t even LET me smell a foot… I’ll come undone. Then I’ll commence to berating you for being a nasty person and suggest you go bathe. Immediately.

But the smell that evokes the strongest reaction is……*drum roll please*…..cat poop. They say these olfactory memories can go back as far as infant-hood. Even after an exhaustive search, I can’t determine where the initial cat poop smell originated. Maybe someone threw it on me as a child. Or forced me to eat it. Or something. All I know is that I go Charles Manson crazy when I catch the slightest whiff of feline fecal matter.

I start by finding the perpetrator and dragging her to the scene. Then I start smacking her in the face, while gritting me teeth…”God! You filthy animal! What is WRONG with you?! It smells like cancer up in here!”

Then I stick her face in it and tell her to knock it off before I throw her out the back door. This is highly disturbing for someone to watch. I’ve seen family and friends get up and walk out…no, BACK out of my house with a frightened look in their eye.

Most of my cats have been mentally challenged or hookers in heat, so the cat poop smell is like lighting an already-festering fuse of angry madness.

My current cat (New post for a different day) is all of the above plus a few more…depression being her Achilles paw. I’m not exactly sure WHAT is lurking in her colon, but it’s not fit for man or beast. I don’t know how she can walk around with that toxic mess up in her like that. About a year ago, the proverbial straw knocked the camel down and paralyzed it. I’d had it. The cat’s life was in jeapordy and something had to be done before the Humane Society showed up.

I’m not exactly sure how it happened because I was caught in a haze of hate…but I housebroke the cat. She now goes to the door when she has to make an environmentally hazardous waste deposit. Then when she’s done, she jumps up on the back door and hangs by her claws, bobbing up and down like a muppet until you see her.

When I let her in, I tell her how stupid she looks hanging on the door like that.

Marwencol: A Wake-Up Call

This morning I watched a documentary by the name of “Marwencol”.  Fifteen minutes in, I started to take notes because I knew I had to write an article about this man.  Mark Hogancamp.

A few years ago, 5 men jumped Mark outside of a bar and beat every memory out of his head.  He slipped into a coma for 9 days and after an extended stay, was asked to leave the hospital because his Medicaid refused to pay for anymore treatment or care.  Same went for his physical therapy.

Mark (who bears a striking resemblance to Dustin Hoffman) had to learn to walk, talk, eat, read….like he’d become an infant all over again at the age of 38.  But the human spirit is a resilient being.  The first thing Mark fought to save was his imagination.  Even Einstein knew that imagination was far more important than knowledge.

So Mark went about constructing a minature  1/6th scale WorldWar II-era town in his backyard and began filling it with dolls who represented those who meant the most to him….and those who didn’t.  He dubbed his fantasy world “Marwencol” and the drama ensued from there.  And when I say drama….this place is like a vintage Peyton Place.  But within this world, Mark began to heal.  He unleashed his anger in the form of military torture.  He found love and redemption…and revenge.  All without hurting another human mentally or physically.

But he didn’t just build a town with some dolls and trees.  He began posing and creating scenes that told intricately woven stories, then pain-stakingly photographed each scene.  He wasn’t using a high-priced camera with a fancy lense and tripod.  He mailed away his film to be developed and if the pictures didn’t turn out right…if they were blurry or the exposure was off….he’d simply go back and shoot everything all over again.  He didn’t keep any negatives…he just put all the photographs in a cardboard box.

Mark in no way thought of himself as an artist.  He had simply found a way of coping.  Jeff Malmberg, director of “Marwencol”,  found Mark after watching him pull a toy jeep filled with dolls holding firearms up and down a road. After seeing Mark’s work, he knew he had to share it with the world.  A New York gallery owner caught wind of Mark’s work and went about setting up a show featuring Marwencol.

All professional success aside…it was the moxy of his spirit and soul that had me at hello.  The stronger part of him that talked the dark side into playing with some dolls.  His determination to be himself and realize he wasn’t accountable for the reactions and feelings of other people’s opinion of him.

As a child, I spent the majority of my time in a fantasy world that I’d created to escape a traumatic childhood and I stayed there until my late teens.  I shut everything down, turned off the lights and walked out….because grown-ups don’t live in imaginary worlds.  They ridicule and chastize those who do.  So for the better part of the past three years, I’ve been struggling to un-earth that vivid imagination and begin writing from that place of unpolluted innocence. I’m slowly getting there.  Slowly.  Maybe if I could go play dolls with Mark, I’d tap into what I buried so long ago.

Perhaps playing is the key.  Remember when you were a kid and just hearing someone say, “You wanna play?” was magical?  I think that as adults, we secretly long to cross over into a magical realm where unicorns are real and sticks have magical powers.  Where villians need conquered and princesses need saving.

Mark was able to recapture his birthright.  His imagination.  He didn’t need a high priced shrink or piles of medication.  It would behoove us all to follow in his footsteps.  It shouldn’t take a broken mind to find this magical place.  It takes an open mind.  Completely open.

So without even knowing or realizing it, Mark and his beloved Marwencol has encouraged me to keep digging my way back to the beginning.  For I believe it is THERE where I will find my true path forward.

“I shut my eyes in order to see.”  ~ Paul Gauguin

On Awkward Moments

At what point precisely does a situation become awkward? I’ve been in so many awkward situations that I should change my name to Awkward D. Fluffnstuff. My way of working through this type of thing is to laugh inappropriately. It doesn’t really lighten up the situation…it’s just something to do other than stand there looking half stupid. I won’t lie. There have been times when I’ve staged an awkward situation just to test someone’s mettle. Don’t judge me.

So what exactly makes a situation awkward? Well, I’ve put together a little list here. You can write this down, make a copy, print it out, mail some flyers. Let the people know. Some awkward situations can be avoided. Others become the legends that we read about in books and have no control over whatsoever.

Okay, here we go. My top 20:

1) Pooping in public.

2) Accidental cough-n-pees.

3) Parental sexuality.

4) Holding the door open when the person is a little too far away.

5) Being orally assaulted by a racist cab driver.

6) You say goodbye to someone and walk off in the same direction.

7) When someone goes for the high-five and you hug them.

8) Eavesdropping on conversations and laughing out loud at the funny stuff.

9) Asking someone “Oh! When are you due?”….and she’s not pregnant.

10) Long elevator rides.

11) Falling down in public. (This is funny if you’re not the faller)

12) You walk up to a group of people and they all stop talking.

13) Talking to a man whose fly is wide open.

14) Encounters with close talkers.

15) Being questioned about Jesus.

16) Tooting during a professional massage. Clearing your throat or coughing doesn’t help.

17) The gym, in general.

18) Laughing at a funeral and not being able to stop. Pretending you’re crying doesn’t help.

19) The person in front is walking slightly slower than you are. You walk at an uncomfortable speed to get past them.

20) Knowing damn well your friend ain’t reading no text when you walk by.

Donald Trump a.k.a Donkey Rump

I have secret fantasies concerning The Donald.  No, sick people.  Not THOSE kind of fantasies.  I fantasize about dressing in camo and breaking into his gold-plated compound.  I then make my way through the air ventilation shaft until I reach his boudior.  Then…I descend out of the vent…all cat-like and such, my hands hovering over my holster. But not before donning these spectacles.  (This is not me.)

Then, lickety split, I whip out a comb and brush…and commence to jacking his hair UP, yo!  Then I take his picture, snickering like that crooked cartoon guy, Snidely Whiplash, before shooting back up into the ventilation shaft.

I mean, c’mon.  Haven’t you ever wondered what that hair is up to?  Personally, I think he’s totally bald, except for some bangs that he’s been growing out for the past 20 years and wrapping around his head like a turban.

All hair-funnies aside, the fool is starting to scare me with all the “Presidential Candidate” nonsense.  Now I hear he’s sending some of his goons over to Hawaii to prove once and for all that Barack Obama was born in Thailand to an underage wet-nurse.  In a rice paddy.  Aren’t there more pressing concerns right now?

I know I shouldn’t fear The Donald.  I know this is probably nothing but another marketing stunt.  But then there’s that nagging thought….what if.  What if?!

I’ll tell you what started this whole mess.  At birth, his mother gave him hope and told him he mattered.

Government Shutdown + Crappy Economy = Armageddon

My husband is a political junkie and is fairly convinced that all this shutdown talk is a bunch of hooey.  Me?  I forsee a Tripoli-esque uprising with marches and victory gardens.  Husband sees the glass half full…..I don’t see a glass at all because I knocked it over already.

This morning I watched a military woman talking about, “Well, then I guess I’ll tell my three year old daughter that I’ll have to feed her retro-actively after I get paid.”

Okay, first of all….our military people and their families should NEVER be put in a position where their pay and livelihood gets screwed with by a bunch of self-centered political tools.  Truth be told, NO ONE should be put in that position.  Maybe all the people arguing over the budget should get docked while they fight it out.  No agreement, no paycheck.  I’ll bet bi-partisanship would solve all political problems in five minutes flat.

Now I’m hearing stuff about essential and non-essential government workers.  For some reason, I keep thinking about that scene in Schindler’s List…the one about the essential and non-essential Jewish workers.  Am I comparing this with the holocaust?  Not really.

I keep hearing all these pundits talking about “political theater” and how all this shutdown talk is a ruse and empty threat.  But by midnight tomorrow, 800,000 people may be without work and paychecks.  Okay, that’s a lot of people.  And out of those 800,000 people, the majority of them are at the middle to bottom of the paycheck food chain.  So one day of missed pay makes a serious dent in their lives.  Now, those making six figures tend to forget about these people.  The people who take out your trash and make sure you have a clean chair to sit your butt on everyday.  Or the ones who fix your food…the ones you never make eye-contact with because that would validate their existence.

Riddle me this?  Will welfare checks and food stamps still be issued?  What about those late tax refunds?  And did you know that the IRS will NOT be processing your return while their out twiddling their thumbs?  Well, now you know.  Of course, phones won’t be answered, customer service will be non-existent….not that it was stellar to begin with.  Then there’s the closing of our national parks….right about the time families are planning their frugal vacations that involve camping in lieu of hotels.

This is the time of year when things ease up on folks.  They’ve got a little spending money from their tax returns.  The weather is warmer, the sun is brighter.

In my mind, I see “Politics” as a grossly overweight man kicked back in a busted up La-Z-Boy, gnawing on a ham-bone, toes sticking out of worn and filthy socks, swollen belly hanging out of a dingy t-shirt.  Only now, the filthy slob is getting up out of his chair and coming in to our homes, picking through our fridges, taking our food, driving us out of our homes, stealing our debit cards and draining our bank accounts.

I can’t help but think what the rest of world thinks of us right about now.  I sense we’re being called a herd of jack-donkeys.  And I fear what this shutdown might do to the already-devastated people who have been walking against the wind for far too long already.

Could Americans pull off an uprising?