All Angels Fly Up

I whispered that to my father minutes after he died and we made it to his hospital room.  Said those words hoping his spirit was there, seeing me, hearing me whisper that as if he needed direction to where he was going, as I kissed his forehead for what I knew was the last time.  I heard tale of 21 grams and hoped fervently that this hypothesis was the truth. I wanted him to find the peace he deserved after the epic fight he had put up for the last 20 years of his life.

I said those words again last night.  I prayed for a friend who passed away yesterday morning.  A friend who had struggled with the demons of her past for so long, whose beautiful soul was so grievously injured.  Another person who put up an epic fight, but ultimately lost the battle.  Anyway, not sure how it all happened, but the heavens gained another angel last night.  And once again a little piece of my heart floated up, to rest easy until we all meet again.

My mom, in her infinite wisdom, always said the funniest people are the saddest.  It was no exception for the friend I lost yesterday.  Her sense of humor, her in your face funniness, that was what attracted me to her.  It was only after we struck up our friendship that I truly got to see that other side of her. The saddest, dark side that was yin to her funny yang.

I lost a friend who let me know I wasn't a horrible mom, when horrible things were happening with my child.  That let me know addiction is a horrible disease as much as cancer is, and showed me what a truly beautiful and, at the same time, tortured soul looked like.

I faced things with her, stared down those demons that I didn't want her to face by herself.  Tried to let her know how much she is loved.  How many people needed her.  But I know now, that no matter how hard I tried, how hard all of us that were allowed into that dark space she lived in behind her bright smile tried, that it didn't matter. No matter how much I wanted to make her pain stop, how much any of us did, there just weren't enough rocks....

All she wanted was to be free of all of the horribleness that haunted her.  To have enough rocks.  I would have sent truckloads of them, quarried them with my bare hands, if I knew they would help.

Nothing could really set her free from all that held her captive.  From the ugliness that hurt her.

She is now.

She is free.

She is at peace.

She isn't hurting anymore.

I know we are all reeling.  Grasping at the air for explanations that are never coming, for understanding that we will never have, we never walked a mile in her moccasins, and from what I know we should all be thankful for that.

But for you to be at peace finally Jess?  For you to escape from all that I know you lived through?  I will hurt every day just a little.  I will suffer and carry this because you deserve the peace you have finally found.

So once again, those words escaped my lips.  For you my beautiful friend.  All angels fly up....I love and miss you.

Whales and Pigs and Cows oh my....

Look at you, you look disgusting!  Fat Whale! Look at how fat you look, how could you let yourself go, what a pig...I would never say things to a person I didn't like, than why am I saying it to myself?? But that is exactly what I said looking at myself the other morning in the mirror.  Ugh, I thought in utter disgust, and I walked away.

A recent conversation came to mind.  I was walking to the elevator on our vacation last week, towards my family who were waiting and my husband KNEW I wasn't happy.  "What's wrong?" he asked innocently enough... I hissed back, "I look like a frickin' cow. I am huge" and then I realized who else was in my presence.  My 18 and 15 year old daughters, that's who.

My 15 year old looked at me in sheer disbelief.  She said nothing until she looked at her reflection and proceeded to dress herself down.  I looked at this beautiful young woman in front of me.  All 5'9" plus inches of this statuesque, nothing short of goddess in my eyes and I chastised her.  I told her to stop with the negative self talk, how I would have given my left arm to be her in high school, replete with her poise, good sense of humor, fantastic disposition, beautiful smile, warm heart, and her outward beauty as well...And then she countered with, "it's how you talk to yourself Mom...."

***GASP***

Well wasn't that a kick in the teeth??  She was right of course.  I talk to myself like this all of the time. If I spoke to a child like this, I would destroy them for life, so why was it ok to talk to myself like this? Why would I not allow my lovely daughter to speak negatively about herself but it was ok to slam myself like that?  Am I not lovely too? Did I really just do that?

Why Yes I did.  

But it is how I have spoken to myself more often than not for most of my life.  It's crazy when I think to myself, has this body not gotten me here, to this day, alive and well, 47 years later, no matter what the weight? Did it not get me through triathlons, marathons, mountainous Fondos, an Ironman triathlon and crazy Crossfit hero WODs???  

I need to remember a most important point------->this "horrible" body of mine helped to conceive, grow, and bring 4 beautiful, healthy babies into this world.  That is nothing short of a miracle in itself one time, but I did it four times!  How could I possibly belittle this perfect baby incubating and producing machine lol? But I do!

So I challenged myself that very day, the day my daughter informed me in front of the elevator that they speak to themselves the way they've heard me refer to myself before, to speak only kind words when I looked in the mirror.  I challenged them too.  I said there will be no more negative talk.  That even on days I am feeling the need to spew vulgarities at myself that I must walk away and not speak them even in my head.  That I must focus on the good only.  I told my girls that I want them to do the same.  I want their self confidence to soar, not wither away, as they continue to mature.

I am on day five of only positives.  I'd like to say it's been easy, but it hasn't.  I will say it has gotten a wee bit easier to find a place to compliment myself, even if it seems genuinely trite, because it is at least positive and better than calling myself a cow.  Telling myself my hair looks good, or that my yoga pants flatter my curves, or my nails look pretty long is far better than hurling insults at myself.  And yes they are all rather vapid comments in the grand scheme of things, however they are a humble start for me. Hopefully they will give rise to even deeper, more important revelations about myself.

Funny how we go back to what we know, how I hated being called those awful names by others in grade school and high school, the fat pigs, Celia Cellulites, fat whales still make me cringe and my heart hurt when I hear them being said by my classmates.  But it's what I knew regarding my self image growing up so it's what I took with me as an adult.  What I fell back on knowing full well it was destructive.  The fact that I might pass this trait along to my daughters is enough to make me stop this behavior dead in it's tracks.

I cannot have them sitting belittling themselves at near 50 and hating things they see when they look in the mirror.  

So when I told my girls what I was doing, I challenged them as well.  To love themselves and love things they see when they look at their reflection.  Funny as soon as I brought my challenge up, my 18 year old sent me this article http://www.healthyplace.com/blogs/yourmentalhealth/2013/03/05/a-mothers-effect-on-her-daughters-self-esteem/  How did she get so smart lol?

Definitely sobering, enlightening and worth the read, particularly if you have daughters.  

There is a quote at the end by Oprah Winfrey that will be my mantra even if it kills me!  How sad is it that positive, affirming talk would be this hard for me.  I suspect I am not the only woman out there who is dealing with this, as a matter of fact I know I am not.

"You can't fix the girls and the the self-esteem until you fix the mothers.  As Naomi Wolf said so beautifully, "A mother who radiates self-love and acceptance actually vaccinates her daughter against low self-esteem"  ~ Oprah Winfrey

50 is the new 30

It is you know.  It's my husband's birthday, he turns the big 5-0 today.  He looks better today then when I met him all those years ago.  I can remember the first birthday I celebrated with him, I believe he turned 25 that year.  I was still in college up in Oswego, he was in Freeport, Illinois.  I went to visit him his birthday weekend.  It was almost two months after I met him.  My mom didn't want me to go.  He could be an ax murderer was her rationale.  I didn't know him well enough.  My dad very rarely trumped my mom on anything, but I can still remember him saying, "Ginger, we are letting her go." As a mom now I guess I can understand her anxiety.  I marvel at my dad and him knowing, as he always said, Brad was special.

You know I dreamed of my husband.  I guess I knew I would meet him before I met him.  Before I went on this cruise with my mom and dad back in *gulp* 1989, I had a dream one night.  That I met this dashing guy in a suit on the cruise.  After we romanced the whole cruise ala Love Boat, my favorite show to watch besides Fantasy Island both were on on Saturday night when I was growing up, he showed up at my door in a limo and got out.  Oh in my dream he was like a mafia Don or a Kennedy of some sort.  Some one who exuded raw power, but anyway he came calling for me with a ring and the rest of my dream was history....

I have to say it wasn't EXACTLY like that, but it was sort of.  Okay, we're heading for a dream sequence, please put your tray tables in their upright and locked position....

It was a snowball dance we met at on the cruise.  When the DJ said snowball, you had to find a new partner to dance with.  I was with my new found friend DeeDee when the DJ in the disco said snowball.  I just wanted a beer and to dance.  I heard the bartender telling the guy next to me to "ask the pretty lady next to you to dance" I was hoping to God he meant someone else, still smarting from a very bad break up, the last thing I wanted was a boy in my life.  Alas, it was me, all Brad wanted was a damn Corona, he had a girlfriend, boy was desperate for that beer, because the next thing I knew there was a tap on my shoulder.  

I was all prepared to go Large Marge on him

But then I turned around and saw him.  And let's just say Large Marge didn't happen.

When I looked at him I knew I was done for.  I fell for him, fell hard.  It was like that episode of the Brady Bunch when Bobby kisses the chick with the mumps and he sees all fireworks, and Brad hadn't even kissed me yet!

Long story short we hung out every day, made some really fun friends, went on all sorts of adventures in ports, *cough Senor Frog's* and the next thing you know the 7 days came to an end.  I said goodbye to him, he gave me his work address and phone number.  That's when I knew he had a girlfriend at home.  I mean seriously, I might have been born at night, but not last night right hahaha?

I figured my feelings when I first saw him were based on all of those dreamy Saturday night Love Boat episodes.  He went back to Illinois, I went back to New York.  Done deal.

WRONG!

My dream limo turned out to be a dozen long stemmed red roses.  They got delivered to me after a week of no contact from him.  Apparently he hadn't stopped thinking about me, hadn't stopped talking to his friends about me, and they finally told him to do something about it!  Hence the roses...We spoke the night I got them, he called me.  We've spoken every night since that night *sigh*

When I went out to Illinois for that first birthday celebration with him, we had champagne, we went to dinner, we went dancing.  We told each other we loved each other that weekend.  I told him first actually, he told me the next day, he had this whole special night planned.  When he said it, it was over a champagne toast. Funny, that's how he proposed to me in Niagara Falls, but that is a blog for another day.

I went home, he came to see me in March for my Spring Break, took me to Niagara Falls and he asked me to marry him.  I got every little girls' wish, my prince came in and swooped me up.  I had a fairy tale come to life.

Ok, so maybe it took a little longer than a week like my dream.  It took three months.  Maybe he wasn't mafioso, or some public figure that exuded raw power.  But he was my childhood dream, he was my Love Boat come to life.  And life since my Love Boat has been an awful lot like my Fantasy Island.....

Happy Birthday Brad!!  I LOVE YOU!

Pass me a tissue

I have a a very, very dear friend who is going through what I think is a crisis of faith.  She has lived through some really rough stuff and has every right to be angry at God.  Even turn her back on God and question His very existence.  I am angry for her, my faith lags for her.  But see, something happened once upon a time in my past that makes me know God exists.  I never really shared the story with anyone, or my thoughts on what happened, I figured people would think I am nuts.  Was it Lily Tomlin who said, why is it when we talk to God it's praying but when He talks to us it's schizophrenia?

My friend had just had an incident happen right before she texted me.  She said she had to tell me about this thing that happened with a book of faith, a cat, an I-pad, and a highlighted passage caused by a cat paw.  It was a random sort of thing, but in my humble opinion I told her it could be God's way of trying to tap her on the shoulder and remind her that He is there still.  Still waiting to be a mooring of strength during this difficult time.  That's when I decided I would tell her why I believe in God, and why maybe it was His way of reaching out to her, this freaky happening she was trying to reasonably explain.

I know I have mentioned my father and him being sick for a long time in one blog or another.  He suffered with so many different things, lupus, dermatomyositis, replaced heart valves, multiple heart stents, the list is never ending unfortunately.  Anyway one of the problems his lupus caused was pleurisy, fluid in his lungs.  He had to get a chest tube to drain it.  During the procedure, unbeknownst to us, a staff infection was introduced.

My dad made it through the holidays that year, barely.  The staff infection was invading his body and doing it's damage.  My mom knew there was a problem the morning he sat at the table trying to put his bridge in upside down and started to make no sense.  Panicked she raced him to the local hospital, she thought he was having a stroke.  I will not bore you with everything that happened that day.  It was a horrible day that ended with me getting a phone call from my older brother the next morning around 5:30-6:00AM.  If you have a loved one with serious health issues, you know the phone ringing at that time is never a good thing.

I answered the phone that morning, and life as I knew it kind of ended with the answering of that call. I remember verbatim what Rick said to me.  "Dee, dad's back in the hospital.  He's on life support but you don't need to come up or nothing.  He's gonna be fine".

Insert tire screeching sound here......

My mind started racing as did the tears down my cheeks.  I woke Brad up and we decided I would go up to New York ASAP with the two littlest ones.  One wasn't quite two, the other was in pre-school.  He would stay here with the two in school.  I would let him know if they needed to come up and how soon.

I don't even remember how I packed, but I did, got the kids loaded in the car, it was a cold January, kissed my husband and other two ladies good bye and left.  We drove straight to the hospital, took over 8 hours that drive.  But we got there, I made my way to where my family was waiting, it was my brother and his girlfriend who is now his wife, my mom, her sisters, their husbands, my father's brother and some of his cousins.  I knew it was bad by the way everyone looked.  I left my two little ones with my mom and aunt, and tentatively stepped through the automatic doors to make my way to my dad's room.  My legs felt like lead, they didn't want to move. I got there and I wasn't prepared for the sight to be honest.  My father's brother had come in with me.  I grabbed his arm as my legs failed and buckled beneath me.  I had never seen him with so many tubes and wires coming out of him. I cry as I see the image in my head again.....I had to shift my sight to the huge window that took up the whole wall behind his bed.  It had started to snow, these lovely, large, white, ethereal flakes making their way gently down, so pretty behind the starkness of the dark sky.  When I got a hold of myself, I walked away from the window and dried my tears. I asked the nurse who came in to check on his machinery what everything was for.  She basically explained the staff infection ravaged his body.  Systematically and insidiously shut down his organs.  He was on a respirator so he could breathe, he was on dialysis as well, I don't remember much more of what she said after that.  She asked me if I'd like my dad to wake up and see me.  I did, more than anything in the world, at that point I wanted my dad to know I was there.

She was a big Jamaican woman, with a lovely lilting accent, and she said loudly to my dad, "Anthony, (but it came out Ant-honey), your daughter is here, Anthony.  Wake up and see her."  And he did.

I will never forget the look he gave me, how scared he looked, how happy he looked to see me, but I think in his heart he knew he must be in rough shape for me to be there.  I showed him the picture of his granddaughters I brought.  I told him his girls missed him and wanted to see him home soon. The nurse taped the picture on the side of his bed where he could see it.  Then I grabbed the hand with the least amount of tubes coming out of it and held it, I leaned down and kissed it, he couldn't move his head with that thing in his throat, I wanted so desperately to kiss his forehead....

He lingered like this for awhile.  I stayed with my mom with the two littlest ones.  Our lives came and went in shifts.  I would take the morning visitors shift so mom could get some work done, I'd come home and she'd go and take the evening visitation shift.  Or vice versa.  I'd do the cleaning, the shopping, the cooking, I did everything I could to help.

I went one morning shift for her, I had done the evening one the night before, kissed dad and told him I'd see him tomorrow. At this point the nurses knew me, I got several kind greetings before I turned into dad's room.  When I walked in my dad was awake and had NO tube in his throat!  I was amazed, I grabbed a nurse and asked what happened.  Why did they un-intubate him??  He was barely awake the night before, what was going on??  She told me to ask him.

So I did.

He couldn't really speak, the tube had been in his throat damn near two weeks and had damaged his vocal cords and esophagus.  I asked him what happened???  He pointed up.  Then he sort of hissed an answer to me slowly.  The gist of what he hissed and pantomimed was he told me he took the tube out himself last night in the middle of the night.  He told me God came to him the night before. Touched him and woke him up. Told him to take the tube out of his throat. That he needed to be able to talk to us before he died.

I ran out of the room and called my mother immediately.  She rushed to the hospital on the news.

Then another miracle occurred.  His kidneys started working again.  Just like that, the damn things started doing their job.  They stopped the dialysis.  He started to get better, good enough to be moved to a regular room within a weeks time.

Good enough for me to shave his face again, and even clip his toenails a job mom and I used to flip a coin to see who had to do it before when he was too sick to do it himself.  I sat and held his hand and watched TV, me yammering away about his granddaughters.  Just happy he could hear me, he was awake and every now and again he could hiss an answer to me.

Before you know it we started making plans to bring him home.  Mom was going to get him an aide to help because he was supposed to go to a rehab facility first but he begged my mom not to and to let him go home.  Of course we made plans to do that instead.  I made plans to go back to Virginia and see my girls and come back in a week for a few weeks again and help mom.  I'd do that as long as I needed to during his rehab.

I remember the last time I saw him, I remember the last time we held hands, I remember the last I love yous spoken between us.  Something that my heart wraps around every time I miss him, hearing his voice, seeing him....

We got the phone call that night around 3am.  He was crashing, I heard mom say, "everything.  Do everything you have to to save him."  By the time we got to the hospital

he

was

gone......

Long story short the staff infection had invaded the defibrillator implanted in his chest to keep his heart beating regularly and it failed to work.  His heart stopped that night.......never to beat again.

But see, I believe God did go to him.  Did tell him to take that tube out.  Did make it so he could let us know how much he loved us.  I also believe God knew my dad had suffered long and hard, long enough.  He knew the struggles coming up for my dad would be more than he deserved to bear, so he called him home. Rewarded him with the paradise we are all promised someday.

And I got that last I love you everyone always says they wish they had when a loved one leaves this world.  I didn't have to wish.  I got mine.

We all got the gift of those few weeks of dad being able to be with us again.  I was blessed beyond measure to receive them.  Call me schizo, but God talked to my dad, God blessed us all with his grace those few weeks.

So my very, very dear friend, do I think the cat paw accidentally stepped on the particular passage that was highlighted?  In a  word?

Nope.

I think the Lord has a way of reaching all of us that makes sense to us.

I believe he made this little creature you love as much do his mouthpiece. He is reaching out to you with an innocent creation letting you know there is a Kingdom where no numbness exists.

Ball's in you court now, do with it what you will......or let the kitty bat it around for awhile. All while you wait for the next tap on your shoulder.

Friday the 13th, why Friday, why not Monday?

My daughter Katie and I got laughing about that last night.  Why is Friday the 13th scarier than say Tuesday the 13th? I quite personally believe any Monday is scarier than a Friday the 13th.  Monday the 13th I think is the scariest day of all.

I used to be superstitious.  I would drop salt and have to throw some over my shoulder.  Never remembering which shoulder it was I was supposed to throw it over, I would toss it over both.  I watched a show about how superstitious hockey players are a long time ago. Phill Esposito, one of my favorite Rangers, had this whole pre-game ritual he had to follow or he couldn't go on the ice.

I see it with our team.  I hear tale of some of the ways the guys have to get dressed or do things before a game.  I would imagine me just getting there in enough time and getting into my gear would be my whole ritual lol.

I can remember my Grandma Tav having this whole thing she did, short of curling up in the fetal position, if she spilled oil of all things.  Who ever heard of such a thing?  She probably just made it up, really what on earth is going to happen if you spill oil?  Will your skin get oily and  break out? Will your food never fry right again??

But that's my point, superstitions were made up by someone looking for an excuse to explain something bad that happened.

My best friend was killed in a car accident on Friday the 13th.  Was it the day that caused that accident?  No, I think not.  It was the driver of the step truck who failed to follow the speed limit posted, couldn't stop in enough time at that red light, that hit her from behind.  It was the fact that old cars didn't have the safety features that new cars have and her vehicle crumpled up like a used tissue.

Some superstitions are common sense.  Like walking under a ladder.  Why would you want to do that? There is a good chance there is something on said ladder that could fall and hit you on the head.  Or the ladder could fall over on you and I am sure that would leave a mark.  Breaking a mirror is dangerous too. Not because of the bad luck thing but have you ever gotten a shard of glass in your foot?  Or sliced yourself on a piece of glass? It hurts!  Open an umbrella in the house?? That's like running with a lollipop in your mouth in Motherland. A huge no no!  You'll lose an eye or choke to death...Wise reasons to follow stupid superstition.

There was a documentary on maybe Discovery about how dangerous superstitions are.  The gist of the documentary was that yes they might seem harmless but it was a belief in superstitions that sent how many people to their untimely deaths in Salem, Massachusetts once upon a time?  That had hoards of black cats massacred in the middle ages, that have albino children killed in Tanzania to this very day....they can be truly dangerous.  Broke me of the need to believe in them after I saw it.

So relax people it's just a date on the calendar.  It's just a black cat crossing your path, go ahead and open your umbrella in the house, scratch your palm if it's itching and step on that crack or line, I bet I won't look like Frankenstein.....knock on wood.

I have a lot of nothing to say today....

I was sitting here, staring at my computer trying to work.  But my work is utterly boring.  All numbers based, and for those of you who know me, I am more like the socks I like to wear to CrossFit

I'm not the all making sense and calculatable type like my work.  I have never been the numbers or spread sheet lover, and it's all I've done for the last 11 or so years.  Regardless.

There are thoughts in my head just dying to make their way into this world so I figured my blog about nothing would truly be about nothing and everything today.

I have been up since 4:30 with hungry, yelpy, thirsty puppies.  As I stumbled downstairs to clean their pen before the kids started making their way down, I was grousing away under my breath. I was none too happy to see the little babies at this early hour, until one put her paws up on my leg and looked at me with her brow all furrowed as if to say, "why so grouchy Mama, you always pet us and love us when you see us first thing". Alright my heart melted and I pet the little beast and her sisters, gave them all big dog biscuits to gnaw on after their breakfast was done, and went to sit for a few before I had to hit the day. Clock on the wall says it's now 5:15ish.

As I sat I realized it would be the optimal time to make lunches so I decided to get up and do that instead of just wasting time, Timex time? 5:30ish.  

A few more minutes of sitting, I watched the weather and thought another Africa hot kind of day, then I went and woke everyone up.  Your time according to my cable box,  6:00am.

TA-DA  My day has started.

I made myself a cup of coffee, started cleaning out the sink, ironed a shirt my daughter wanted to wear today that I remembered on the ironing board. Go back to scrubbing the cookie sheet from last night's cookie bake, put the dishes in the dishwasher and dry off my hands.

I run back upstairs to make sure everyone is awake, it's now 6:30 only to find my 11 year old asleep still and her bus is coming in 20 minutes!  Get her clothes together, her hair done, find her tooth brush, make her a bagel with peanut butter, run upstairs to get her a pair of socks while she packs her backpack and grab two puppies from the pen who are crying and need to go out.

In the meantime my two high school daughters had come down, made some breakfast, walked outside to the car and bid me goodbye and off they go in one of our cars to another day at the "best high school in the nation" according to the morning announcements.

I sit on the stairs, I am tired, and start making a mental checklist of all I have to do today.  Thankfully there's no soccer on Wednesdays.  I have to get my work ready for my accountant, I have a mountain of laundry in my laundry room that needs to be addressed.  There are pictures that need to be rehung since we got the house painted, the floors are in dire need of a vacuuming.  I think I know what's for dinner tonight, so I can get that ready before I go tonight and that will be good.  I am recovering from straining my back a week ago, so my workout will be light and easy again today and I stayed home from CrossFit so I wouldn't even be tempted to try today's awesome workout in honor of 9/11.

I pop on FaceBook and Twitter because I need to waste time like I need a hole in my head, but some times, that escape into my cyber world helps maintain my sanity and think I wish I had something worth value to blog. But I don't and I want to write so here I sit, trying desperately to think. 

I put my Beats on, listen to some music that usually peps me up, the Steve Aoki remix of Kid Cudi's Pursuit of Happiness is where I start because I was listening to it yesterday and never finished. This song makes me smile for whatever reason. And music tends to be my muse. Not today.  I think my brain is too tired.

I got thinking is it disrespectful for me to blog such blandness on a day like today?  It is 9/11 and we did live through such tragedy.  I will definitely pull out the 9/11 box from under my bed and let my girls leaf through the newspapers, magazines etc. that I have kept in a time capsule for them someday. Like most horrific historical events I know this day will never be forgotten, ever. I will remember every moment, frozen in frame and in time, from finding out what was going on to, to finally reaching my dad in the City and telling him to get home because he will never find a train to get home with everything going on, to worrying about a cousin who works in the Pentagon, to going to church and sitting with all of the other dazed people, crying and wondering why there is such craziness in this world, all the while holding my then 2 year old and hoping for peace in this world for her and all of my other girls someday. But the business of living is exactly what we should all be doing so I guess I will continue to write.

I have my spreadsheet open now, I open it without even realizing that I'm doing it.  I change the dates and get ready to enter the numbers that stare at me and mock me.  Taunt me with the banality that is the bookkeeping chore in front of me, and settle in to work and my blogging has to be done.  The creativity that demanded an outlet is quashed, not allowed to continue.  I have to be a responsible adult now and work.

Someone deliver me from the land of numeral Hell....

My creativity is sadly curled up in a corner of my brain not to be bothered right now.  Shhhh, be quiet! I mentally yell at it as I pick up a pink pen and start doodling my favorite doodles....

Femmaballs

No idea what that means, I believe I have them, but it's a term we came up with this past weekend when I met some friends in Dallas.  We had a raucously good time.  A couple of women and my new gay bff because like in Kick Ass, a girl needs to have one of those, just cutting loose in the land where everything is bigger. Parties definitely and fun included.

It was like a giant slumber party.  What girl doesn't love a slumber party?  It conjures up the images of a bunch of females all giggling and staying up into the wee hours of the morning.  Secrets are shared, startling truths spoken out loud....

This big girl slumber party was no different.  It was amazing when I think about it.  The similarities all the same, except now the secrets are more than, "I like Brad and we kissed behind the Shoprite last night". And we don't have a mom yelling upstairs, or down, wherever we might have been sleeping, to quiet down and get to sleep.  There was some jumping on the bed, me singing out loud in the morning one morning to wake everyone up, the secrets juicier,  the boy talk wayyyy past who was cute, the drinking legal now and way more copious.

The women I met up with came from this group of friends that I met online when the Twilight craze hit.  We all managed to meet on Twilight Moms, I cannot believe I just admitted that out loud haha!! But we did meet there, in this secret part created called the Basement.  You had to ask to join the Basement and wait for approval.  When I saw this section of what was a rather innocent website I requested to join.  There was one area of the Basement I frequented, The Barge, and this is where I met my buddies.  We had so much fun there, getting rather randy being able to hide in our secret world.  Then, just like that, one day when I went to access the Basement, it didn't exist anymore. Our section got unceremoniously booted off of the site for some reason!  Although my friend I met in Dallas for the first time proudly admits she told them she was leaving because they were fricking Twilight Nazis.  Basically you had to listen to their drivel about these books or be shunned, which was what happened to the rest of us. So there I was, staring at my computer missing these women I had been meeting every night for how long??  I remember telling my husband I felt like someone punched me in the stomach.  I had come to regard these woman as my girls.  People I could let down my hair down around without fear of condemnation.

Then I got an email from one saying they created a site for just us. As one of my friends said, I remember this quite vividly, she felt like "Johnny no mates" after she got kicked off of Twilight Moms.  We had formed this bond, we had fun together.  And then Facebook became all the rage and we formed a closed group on FB where we all still meet every day.  Just checking in, commenting on this or that, posting pictures we like. Sharing problems we are dealing with.  A support group for the demented!!

We are a motley crew.  We live all over the US, plus England and Australia.  All different walks of life and professions, different ages, some married, some not, some with kids, some without.  And every now and again there will be a meetup, where our virtuality becomes reality.  That is what this weekend was all about.

Two of these women I had met already, and meeting another one for the first time.  But it felt like, when I hugged her when I finally saw her face to face, that I had known her for years, and after all, I have.  Toss in a friend she brought, who I loved to death, and another of her friends, my Papi, and our weekend was complete!

I won't bore you with the details, but this was a slumber party on steroids.  One that was borne from a Twilight basement that lasted for days that included, Bloody Marys, Patron, Sake, Grey Goose, Blue Moon, Lotto Moscato, me rapping Big Sean for Donell, gay bar hopping until the wee hours and people partying it up and rocking harder than they had in a very long time. It was an amazing few days to remember, or sort of remember, or maybe we should forget, and one where I really can't share any pictures from. Although there are a few Vines that no one will understand and make me belly laugh every time I see them.

When I mentioned to my friends I was thinking about blogging this I promised them all the names would be changed to protect the innocent.  And one chimed in, what about the guilty?? I had to laugh.  That is sooooo how we think!

We were certainly guilty of total debauchery this weekend.  It will easily take another almost 2 years to recuperate. I think my liver packed it's bags and left for vacation after Saturday night.  But recuperate we will.  Smile at the goofy stuff we did, laugh with each other as we share even more big girl secrets we created from the trip.

All in all, a successful DB meetup, and of course we started planning for our next one before we even finished this one.

Anyone up for NOLA, 2014??