Blood, Sweat and Beers.

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i am in love with restaurants.  i love to work in them, i love to go to them, i love to read about them, i love to look at menus and photos of food and wine and drinks and decor…  i also love listening to podcasts about restaurants – the eater upsell is really fun, btw.  to me, it’s the greatest biz ever.  it’s also ruined me for life.  why?  well… so many reasons, but mostly because of my expectations.  as the buddha said, expectation leads to disappointment.  i know how things should go during service, therefore when they don’t… well, i get bummed out.  and sometimes i speak out.  and, for the record, i don’t expect perfection, i only expect effort.  i am also pretty sure i used some form of the word “expect” more in this paragraph than anyone in history.  moving on…  the photo above is from my cousins’ now-closed western massachusetts big boy franchises.  so cute, right?  ❤  i mean… i guess the restaurant biz must be in the arabic part of my blood.  and you know what else?  i want those red checkered overalls.

when i was a young worker bee i was all about retail, but my first job ever was as a busgirl in a german restaurant.  my uniform was a peasant blouse and a long skirt.  omg, so hilarious to remember that.  in addition to the usual duties of clearing tables, i had to present the dessert tray to each table.  yes.  old hard pieces of cakes, pies and puddings – or whatever – are apparently irresistible.  gross.  one of the tables on my very first night was two couples who had been enjoying a little too much riesling, and one of the guys was a little too sassy.  he asked “how much for a slice of you?” and my 16-year-old self was aaaaaaaabsolutely mortified.  i quit that night.  can you imagine if old hag kerry was the manager of a young innocent?  i would have given the asshole the shaming of his life.  don’t say stuff like that to a kid, you idiot!  anyway…  that started the years of gift shops, a record store, art gallery, bike shop, ski stores and rental shops… i even worked in a hunting and fishing store that had a fudge counter.  i know, right?  lol!  i sold bullets, learned how to recommend fishing lures AND made fudge.  all under one roof!  very efficient.  i was living in breckenridge, a ski area in colorado, when i had most of these jobs, and also when i got my real (lasted longer than four hours) first restaurant job – at colt’s sports bar!  yeah, baby!  it was between summer and ski seasons – when the retail jobs get chopped – and i still needed to pay rent.  i was a little nervous because i really didn’t have a clue, but dived right in and figured it out.  i mean, what else could i do, right?  i fell in love with the business immediately.  it was a locals hangout, so we were always busy and i met a ton of fun people.  AND i made waaaaaay more money than retail.  boom.  i still remember the wonderful cherry-cheeked owner, jerry, and two of my co-workers, phil and dawn.  phil was the cook.  he skied or mountain biked  – depending on season, of course – all day every day and worked almost every night.  such a great guy.  i loved him.  and he loved to do shots of tuaca!  to this day, i call it tuaca-on-the-wild-side in his honor.  dawn was one of the bartenders and a sassy upstate new york broad.  she.  was.  awesome.  she had frosted hair, a fake tan, bleached teeth and giant blue eyes framed with incredible, thick layers of black mascara and liner.  this was the 80s and to me she was a super babe.  she was also a great bartender and had charm to the 100th degree.  one day it was really dead, so she decided she was going to get drunk, close up shop for a couple hours and go fishing.  she hung a sign on the door that said “gone fishing”.  lol.  my hero.  and… how delightfully literal!

colt’s started my restaurant adventures!  i have been incredibly lucky and worked in very special places all over the country.  i’ve done the microbrewery thing, the fine dining thing, the neighborhood bar and grill thing, the organic thing, even the food truck thing… so many things!  lol.  i also worked for a raw vegan culinary school.  that was fascinating and definitely needs its own post, cuz… wow.  i hadn’t worked as a server for over ten years when i decided that i wanted to really work on a business plan to open my own restaurant.  my own breakfast restaurant, actually, because breakfast is the best!  i had never worked in that type of place and felt it was necessary for my edification.  i lucked into a position at a busy place where a friend was a server and it was… intense.  holy shit.  breakfast ain’t no joke!  everyone moves a mile a minute because they have to.  i mean… eggs don’t take that long to cook, right?  it was quite a learning experience and it was hard work!  the best part of that job – aside from the huevos rancheros and unlimited coffee – was the clientele.  this particular restaurant was across the street from a hospital, so the customers were usually a little on the emotional side and you know this crazy empath loves to love and comfort!  i met A TON of amazing people but a few stand out… like the couple from nebraska whose baby had been in nicu for almost six months.  six months.  SIX months.  they had yet to take him home.  ugh.  *sad face*  mom stayed in denver to be close to their son, and dad had to tend their farm so would visit every other weekend.  once i asked how the baby was doing and she very calmly said “well his heart stopped this morning, but they got it going and now he’s doing okay.”  are you fucking kidding me?? can you imagine the stress??  i mean… *sigh*  they were so strong and lovely and kind and just making it through every day.  my heart melted every time i saw them.  recently facebook reminded me about a customer who was in town from massachusetts visiting her anorexic teen daughter who lived in an eating disorders care center.  oy.  also serious shit.   mom was on her way to the center to be trained by a counselor on how to deal with shopping for clothes, food, etc., with her daughter when she was released.  i would have never thought about this very necessary step, would you?  mom was soooo freaked out.  she was so sweet and carried so much guilt.  it was very early and very quiet that morning, so i sat with her and we both cried.  i was touched by how committed she was to her daughter’s recovery and i SO hope they are now both happy and healthy.  i also remember waiting on a mom and her two kids who all started crying at one point during lunch.  i found out later that the husband/dad had died that morning and the song that was playing was his favorite.  omg.  what??  of course i started crying immediately after they told me.  you guys!  how did my heart survive this??  seriously.  on the lighter side, we also had a bunch of regulars who were absolutely fantastic!  john the happy and sassy single grandpa who had the best dating stories, larry the tiny texan who was very educated, interesting and had the cutest shy laugh, the sweet nerdy tech guys who were working on installs at the new hospital… cute families, singles, doctors and nurses, and lots and LOTS of cops and firefighters.  it was really fun and felt like a giant family.  and, as you can imagine, sometimes a big ol’ therapy session!  fortunately, dr. kerry is ALWAYS in the house… 😉

 

Crushed.

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if there was an award for the oldest woman on the planet who still has silly crushes, i’m pretty sure i would win.  my newest – and so-far-longest-lasting – crush is butch walker, an amazing musician and performer.  and superfuckinghot guy.  i had never heard of him until a facebook friend posted a video of him singing with daryl hall on my page and i was a goner.  like, mega goner.  thanks to an amazingly thoughtful friend, i was able to see him here in chicago a couple of weeks ago.  it.  was.  incredible.  but the MOST incredible thing was that after the show he came in to the bar where my friend and i were hanging out.  i mean… i think i almost had a heart attack.  i kind of wish i could have seen my face when i saw him walk in because it was probably pretty hilarious.  my friend was so happy for me, it was very cute.  butch came up to the bar to order beers for himself and his buddies and my aforementioned amazing friend asked him if he would take a photo with me because i was a big fan.  obviously that is what i posted above.  to date, the greatest moment of my life.  i wish i was kidding.  i also think i got him a few new female fans, because… just look at him…. he is GORGEOUS!  and he’s 46 or something.  not a kid! and he is so sweet and gracious and incredibly talented and has the best style.  to me he’s like a modern day steve mcqueen.  just the epitome of cool.  the difference between my old lady crush mind and my kid crush mind is i KNOW that i’m not going to marry my crush.  harumph.

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when i was in second grade, i was IN LOVE with david cassidy.  i mean… i was positive that i would marry him.  my dad took me and my best friend to see him in concert.  i would consider that the greatest sacrifice my then-single dad ever made for me.  i used my allowance money to buy an “i love david” felt pennant to wave around like a fool.  when he would do his wave around the stadium, i was po-si-tive that he was waving just to me. i did legit love david.  you guys, he was SO cute!  yeah, i’ll say it… he was dreamy!  doubt i ever missed an episode of “the partridge family” and played his album “cherish” so many times that i had every word memorized and would sing along.  i probably imagined duets.  he made my little girl heart go pitter patter.  ❤

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my next big crush was leif garrett.  i think i am seeing a musician/pretty/greathair pattern here…  his fan mag pics were allllll over my locker.  in retrospect, i probably kept scotch tape in business.  oddly, i remember having a pic of the very young bodybuilder arnold schwarzenegger in my locker, too.  lolllll!  i didn’t know he’d become a republican… 😉  i actually wrote a fan letter to leif.  uh huh.  i did.  i forget if it was tiger beat or teen beat, but i wrote that i wanted to give him butterfly kisses.  do you know what those are?  it’s when you flitter your eyelashes on a guy’s cheek.  *gasp!*  lol.  was i ever really that innocent?  yes.  i wrote the letter on notebook paper, put it in an envelope, put a stamp on it and dropped it in a mailbox.  i had immediate regret, but couldn’t get the letter back out, so instead i would have to wait for the new issue of *whatever* magazine and feel like i was going to puke until i could confirm that my letter hadn’t been printed.  for months.  i was really embarrassed that i had put that out there.  i mean… such torture!  today the kids just post on social media.  so immediate.  i am so glad that social media didn’t exist when i was an emotional kid.  it’s hard enough for an emotional old hag!

Frampton

my last notable crush – pre-butch – was peter frampton.  this was high school.  again, i probably thought i would marry him.  there is such beauty in delusion, right?  delusion, innocence, hope.  i mean, not the most harmful combo.  those days are, sadly, sooooo gone.  i had a version of the pic above as a poster that i put on my bedroom wall.  with thumbtacks.  it was right over my headboard.  sweet dreams were made of peter frampton.  he had a great voice.  and, clearly, amazing hair.  i probably played “frampton comes alive” a million times.  he toured fairly recently and i kinda wish i would have gone to see him, but… i also love my memories of this version.

i wonder if, at this advanced age, there will be another crush.  wager?  anyone?

Me. Want. Food.

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follow up a blog post about body insecurity with one about food?  why not?  i’m  just a roller coaster of emotions, i tells ya.

food was always a huge thing in my family.  some of my favorite food memories revolve around our yearly summer trips from colorado to massachusetts.  my dad would ship us kids and grandma off right after school ended and we’d stay there until right before school started.  god, he must have been in heaven those two+ months, right??  and my birthday is in july, so… ka-ching!  i would come back with an accent every august.  mirror was mirrah, mine was my-en…  my friends would tease me and i didn’t care, because i loved going back east.  i even loved eating on the plane!  those were the days of actual glassware, flatware and real dishes served on a cute little tray.  you even got to choose your meal!  i felt so pampered and so very fancy.

we spent most of those summers at my lebanese uncle henry’s house outside of worcester.  lunenberg, to be precise.  pratt street to be even more precise.  uncle henry always called my grandmother “froggy” because she was 100% french canadian.  sooooo fucking adorable, so much love between the two.  being there was glorious.  they still spoke arabic in the house, were very loud, and cooked the most amazing food you could imagine.  they were therealdeal.  uncle henry and aunt peggy lived on the same lot as their daughter, beverly, and her family.  there was a giant luscious green lawn between houses and… a pool!  omg is there anything better to a kid than a private pool in the summer?  squeeeeee!  so many painful sunburns and blisters… i loved every single second of it.  in colorado, our “pool” was the giant metal trough we used for the horses’ water.  yeefuckinghaw.

at uncle henry’s, we ate alllllllll the time.  breakfast, snacks, elaborate lunches, snacks, huge dinners… some nights we’d sit on the screened-in porch at around 8 pm and have a sandwich.  of course.  it was usually bologna on white bread with mayonnaise.  you see, my family wanted to be sure we were never hungry.  and didn’t get too skinny.  mission accomplished, lol.  one of my favorite “snacks” was raw kibbeh.  kibbeh is ground lamb with onions, spices, fresh parsley and softened bulgur.  and, yes, we would eat it raw and it was absolutely incredible.  trust.  it sometimes gets cooked, too, but to me it isn’t nearly as delicious that way.  we would spread it on fresh syrian bread, which is a little different than the pita you find in grocery stores.  the bread we would buy from the bakery was huge – at least ten inches in diameter, soft, warm and fluffy and none of that dried-out pocket bullshit.  it was so good that my grandmother would bring an extra suitcase to fill and fly home with us.  that’s syrian bread dedication.  breadication?  yeah, baby!  please hold while i pat myself on the back for that mashup… 😉  we’d also have grape leaves stuffed with ground beef or lamb with rice, cooked all day long in a huge pot in a tomato sauce bath.  and koosa was also a fave.  koosa is stuffed zucchini and/or yellow squash.  it required a special tool that would hollow out the squashes to make room for the lamb and rice.  koosa was also cooked in tomato sauce and i can almost smell it now… nothing is better than something being cooked all day, right?  love.  and lebanese food is so perfectly balanced!  so many layers of rich flavors and textures, and there’s always a fresh element – lemon, mint, parsley, yogurt (labneh)…  it will always be my favorite cuisine.  allllllllwaaaaaaays.

every fourth of july, uncle henry would have a party for a huuuuuuge crowd.  this was a serious undertaking that required days of prep.  there were hundreds of clams to be cleaned and shucked, bushels of corn to be shucked… so.  much.  shucking.  and there were lobsters.  dozens and dozens of them.  he rented picnic tables and we dressed them with those red and white plastic table covers.  i mean… it.  was.  awesome.  giant vats of clam chowder, fresh corn, buckets of steamers, and whole lobsters served with drawn butter and lemon wedges… very, VERY new england.  perfection.  and as a kid you never think about this stuff, but what an incredibly generous man that uncle henry was!  right?  it must have cost a pretty penny, and he was far from rich.  but he just always wanted to make people happy. ❤

i would also spend a little summer time with my irish mom’s sister, aunt helen, and her husband – whose name escapes me – but i don’t have any food memories.  i just remember that they owned tire stores and had a lot of money, she always wore very red lipstick on her very thin lips and would buy me cute, fancy pajamas and nightgowns.  i was a sucker for summer sleepwear.  but this is about food, so i digress.

i have always felt more attached to the lebanese part of me, even though it’s only 25%.  maybe because my last name is abdow, or because my irish mom was gone when i was very young, because the food was so amazing, or… maybe because i always wanted to be the weirdo.  again, mission accomplished.  😉  there weren’t a lot of arabic kids at my schools in rural colorado.  shocker.  i remember having to create a presentation about my heritage at an international night at my junior high, and our families were invited.  that’s a big deal in the tween world.  we stood behind tables and talked about the country/countries from where our families immigrated.  to enhance my display, i made graybeh, these amazing shortbread cookies that each had a blanched almond in the center and were finished with powdered sugar.  so very delicious.  i loved saying the word “graybeh”, because it required rolling the “r” and the fact that i could always do that made me feel like i was doing “my people” proud.  i’m sure i made carbon copy handouts, too, because that’s just what nerd kerry would do.  and yeah, kids, carbon paper.  google it.  it was absolutely awesome.

my lebanese cousin, captain mike abdow, called me for a chat as i was finishing this post.  he’s a fisherman who has lived on cape cod for over 30 years and, to me, the last true representative of the abdows.  he’s VERY massachusetts – hilarious, sassy, and totally dedicated to his absolutely lovely family.  plus he has all the scoop!  he has good stories!  and THE best accent evah!  ❤  i found captain mike years ago when i saw his name and photo in a whole foods book!  so crazy!  he’s kind of famous!  and when i was engaged, jay and i wanted to be married on a boat by a captain, so i reached out.  clearly i never needed his captain services, so i disappeared.  but he reached out to me a few years ago and i love it!  oddly, this man who i haven’t seen for over 45+ years makes me feel more like family than my immediate family.  sorry, brother and sisters, and nieces and nephews, but… it’s true.  a fractured family is just that, but roots are roots.  and i am very grateful to be connected once again to my roots.

Always the Fat Kid, Never the Bride

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i’ve never been comfortable in my own skin.

all i have ever wanted was to be tall and lanky.  no joke.  i’m not short, i’m 5’9″, but i do not have the lanky genes.  not even close.  i do, though, have short and muscular limbs and a long torso.  lucky me.  since i was a young girl, i have been fascinated with models and actresses.  charlie’s angels?  cher?  fuggetaboutit.   i would buy and pore over every fashion magazine and be depressed that i didn’t look like all those hot bitches.  i was/wasn’t/am again a bit of a chub.  so many things contributed to this lack of personal enthusiasm.  first of all, memyselfandi wanting to look like anything but memyselfandi.  media was a big part of this dilution of self esteem, but there were other influences.  let’s list some of them, shall we?  so fun!  *ugh.  i already need a drink and it’s only 4 pm.*

  1. being around skinny kids.  this is a simple one.  who wants to be the fat kid?  i remember being mortified in elementary school when that stupid president’s fitness bullshit thing came up.  like i’m going to climb a fucking rope.  really?  please.  what 6th grader has upper body strength?  they would also weigh us all and post the numbers on a dry erase board.  i mean… wtf.  even though i probably wasn’t technically obese, i was still NOT skinny.  and to a young kid, that was embarrassing.  i remember being in the family car, driving through the mountains, seeing a “weigh station” sign and being petrified that meant we would have to get out and be weighed.  the scale has always been my nemesis.  one day i need to write a horror movie and have a scale be the bad guy.
  2. skinny stepmother.  my dad married his hot 27-year-old blonde german babe when he was 52.  she was hot.  seriously.  and one of the first things she did was put me on a diet.  that really pissed off grandma adrienne.  and made me feel like a piece of shit.  i know that she was just trying to help, but… can you give it a few years?  you just got into the family.  for the record, she didn’t stay hot.  i mean, who does.  and, 40-some years later, i still remember that shame.  oddly, when i was a senior in high school, i was so sad after my boyfriend and i broke up that i became a little cuckoo about eating, started exercising a bunch, and headed toward skinny.  my dad was freaked out.  i will tell you that my addict sister had anorexia/bulimia/etc so badly that she ended up in a psych ward, so he was justified in his worry.  but once i got to college, i put all that weight on PLUS at least the freshman 15.  phew.  pizza.  yes. and, as a matter of fact, when i came home for thanksgiving break, i went to fill in over the holidays at the gift shop where i worked prior and when my manager saw me he gasped “what happened to you?”  i think i cried for a week.  may i note that he has for many years been married to a teensy tinsy gorgeous asian woman who has probably never weighed more than 100 pounds.  and that he is definitely not skinny.  and we are still friends and i adore him.  the bastard.  lol.
  3. asshole kids.  i will NEVER forget being called “flabdow” by a kid in junior high.  i mean, i gotta give it to him, that was pretty clever for the stupid jerk that he was.  it was during phys ed and we were running around the outdoor track- clearly not one of my best events.  to this day i fucking hate running.  i shrank in embarrassment as he laughed his ass off.  i swear to god i can still see his smug face.  gross.  his first name was aladdin, but there was nothing magical about him.  and he probably had a small lamp.  i should look him up and see how fat HE is today.  fucker.
  4. stupid boyfriends.  my sweet college boyfriend to whom i have referred in a previous post told me something that i NEVER forgot: he said that i had “the best face” of anyone he had ever dated.  lolllllllll.  what a way to not get laid, dude!  of course, because he was a frat boy and surrounded by hot skinny chicks, i was constantly insecure.  the first halloween party i went to at the house, i went as a frumpy housewife.  it was a great costume!  rollers in my hair, smeared mascara and lipstick, robe, slippers, the whole thing.  and you know what’s coming next… i was surrounded by the sexy nurses, firefighters, playboy bunnies, etc..  i felt fantastic.  not.  also, i remember once telling move-to-chicago guy that a woman came up to me at the gym and told me that she thought i was in great shape.  he looked at me like i had three heads and said “really?”.  after the stories about him, that should not be a surprise.  douchey mcdouche.
  5. me and my own insecurity.  i really am my own worst enemy.  no one is tougher on me than me.  truth.  the first time i EVER felt good about my body was the very first time i no longer needed the wall for a yoga headstand.  i was absolutely amazed by what my body could do!  you know that i’m going to tell you that i was almost always the biggest chick in every yoga class.  also truth.  i mean, yoga people are typically scrawnsters, right??  plus, ashtanga yoga draws some super-competitive assholes.  it does!!  anyhoo… i haven’t had that empowering feeling in a very, verrrrrry long time.  i haven’t done much yoga in the past few years and every time i say i’m going to, i just lame out.  is this my year?  maybe.  you know i’ll keep you updated!
  6. comparison “shopping”.  this is a bit redundant, but let me add a slightly different take on this.  i am jealous of anyone who is thinner than me.  it is SO stupid, but it’s my reality.  i’m obsessed with skinny broads.  no joke.  i just feel like anyone who is skinnier than me is better than me!  and here’s the sad part:  i know how to be less fat!  but i’m not motivated to be less fat!  gross!!!  you guys, is this therapy???  it might be.  i mean, writing is always cathartic, but… i think getting this shit out there is just the catalyst old lady needs to initiate positive change.  never too late, right?  look at oprah!  lol.

well it’s saturday night and i’m home with the boo dog.  we’re going to not eat bread or cheese and will go for a nice little walk because the temperature isn’t killyourself freezing.  and then i’m going to watch a hallmark movie.  i mean… come on… even after all this catharsis, i’m still a spinster, you guys.  xxoo

 

My Name is Kerry and I was a Farm Kid.

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let me first say that i never know what words to capitalize in titles.  it drives me nuts.  moving on…

i grew up on a tiny little “ranch”/”farm” near-ish boulder in colorado.  we had ten acres at first, then my dad sold off five of them to the dillons.  how weird that i still remember their name…  we had two horses, two cows, four dogs and 50 fucking chickens.  yeah.  fifty.  maybe more.  i’ve always remembered 150, but that seems like an exaggerated kid memory.  i digress… we got the chicks from wherever you get chicks from and had them under a red lamp in the attic until they were old enough to go in their yard and hen house.  they were tiny and fluffy and adorable!  sadly, they grew up and became bitchy, annoying chickens.  lucky me got to feed those mofos every morning before school.  i remember having to bring boiling water to break the ice on their water source on cold winter days.  misery.  and clean their poop.  gross.  and collect their eggs.  that was kind of awesome, i have to say.  collecting an egg that is so fresh that it’s still warm from the hen is kind of magical.  i mean, how does that even happen?  it’s amazing!  a gift!  we also had a garden that was at least a half acre.  do you know how big an acre is??  it’s big.  i think my stepmother spent most of every single summer day weeding and harvesting.  she had an amazing tan.  for the record, zucchini is insane.  we also grew and baled our own hay that we stored in the barn.  pretty cool!  i remember one day catching my oldest sister making out with her cowboy boyfriend up in the hay loft.  he started throwing quarters down to get me to leave.  lol!  what a little shit.  i wonder what i bought with that money… probably red licorice.

our two cows were named hanibal and albert.  we ended up calling hanibal “honeyball” because stepmom helga’s german accent was so strong.  lol.  so cute.  we got them as calves and fed them with giant milk bottles.  poor albert got pneumonia and died.  helga was devastated.  i remember the day hanibal got castrated.  i was so fascinated that it was done with rubber bands!  his honeyballs were out.  😉  after hanibal got old enough, we sent him to slaughter.  again, helga was devastated.  it really WAS weird sending “a pet” off to be killed, but when i had a plate-sized steak for dinner every sunday night, i was just another happy fat kid.  i also remember that my dad had to put locks on the freezers in the barn that held the beef because my addict second-oldest sister kept stealing steaks to sell for drugs.  yes, that IS a whole other story.  anyway…

when it was time to kill the chickens, i was elated.  i hated them so much.  seriously.  i mean, as much as this kid could hate.  #nomorechickenchores  i always joke that chickens-go-bye-bye day was a great bonding experience with my dad.  i was in charge of breaking their necks!  in case you didn’t know, you grab them by the head and swing them in a big circle until you hear the crack.  then my dad would chop their heads off!  yes, some ran around.  weird. as i’m typing this i am wincing, but as a “farm kid”, it was just another day.  my step mom and her mom who was visiting from germany plucked the feathers and gutted them.  gross.  poor oma was on vacation and she had to be in this fresh hell.  come to think of it, where was grandma adrienne??  probably ironing sheets.  anyway… helga couldn’t eat chicken for months because she said she swore she could taste feathers.  lol.  aaawwww.  super trouper.

i’ve mentioned that my dad was very much a bostonian.  which means we didn’t talk about anything emotional or meaningful, lol.  so when it came time for me to have that “the birds and the bees” talk, he wasn’t going to actually talk.  ppppffffttttt!  what initiated this need to get me “schooled” was the fact that he was having our mare, sage, bred.  so i was given a book to study.  lollllll!  i’m laughing so hard as i type this!  hahahaaaaaaa!  i DO remember my complete shock and discomfort when i first saw the stud horse mounting sage.  gross.  it seemed so violent!  and… i mean… hung like a horse ain’t no joke!  jesus.  i wish i could remember his name… and i really wish i still had that book.  for the record, i’m a good student.  😉

i realize now how lucky i was to grow up in that environment.  but as a kid, i felt very isolated.  i wanted to be closer to my friends!  we lived at the end of a mile-long dirt road. *i took the above photo of good ol’ trevarton drive when i was there a few years ago.  literally memory lane…!*  the property next to us was huge and there was a little pond on it.  i remember walking over there one afternoon with my best friend, wally.  uh huh.  wally.  we had the genius idea to roast our red licorice.  so we started a fire.  and, you guessed it, the fire grew.  fast.  we ran to my house to get my dad to help us and, omg, he was SOOOOOO pissed!  lol!  i was supposed to go for a weekend sleepover with my first best friend, paula, in littleton the next day so my punishment was canceling that action.  i was super bummed.  but of course that old softie, donabdow, (yeah, it’s one word) still schlepped me there.  so sweeeeeeet.  ❤  by the way, licorice is NOT more delicious when cooked over an open fire…

my favorite show as a kid was “family affair”.  those lucky little orphaned brats got to live in a posh condo in a manhattan high rise with their rich uncle.  i was so jealous.  we lived in a huge six-bedroom house and all i wanted was to live in an apartment.  well guess what.  85,000 apartments later, now i want to live on a ranch.  lol.  thanks a lot, pioneer woman!  note to self:  find a rich old rancher to marry.  😉

Mother Goose or Mother Loose?

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i have never wanted kids.  well, maybe i did when i was an actual kid, and thought that was just what you were “supposed to” do.  society dictates a schedule:  graduate high school, go to college, start your career, get married, have kids.  the end.  welllllllll that didn’t happen for me.  i did graduate from high school, and i went to college but never graduated.  as it turns out, third school isn’t a charm… lol.  and, sadly, i’ve been more of a job person than a career person.  i DID graduate from my yoga teacher and herbalist trainings, though.  and for sure from the school of hard knocks.  actually, i think i’m still in that school of hard knocks… or maybe a professor emeritus…  i’m driven by my heart.  i have a brain, yes.  it’s actually a pretty good brain.  but i’m ruled by my goddamn soft heart.  i hate it.  i honestly wish that i could have just acquiesced and fallen into the land of expectation because life would have been so much easier.  wait!  do i have a new version of “the wizard of oz” on my hands??  mine would be “the wizard of odd”.  lol.

one of my friends refers to me as “the bedouin”.  this is spot on.  not only am i a wanderer, i am also part arabic.  i mean, it’s my roots, right?  i blame my heritage on my need for speed.  that and my crooked nose and thin lips.  and cravings for hummus.  if you’ve read any of my other posts, you know that i’ve moved around quite a bit.  i get bored very easily.  99% of people do not understand this, and that’s cool.  that said… i’ve lost more than my share of nice boyfriends because i didn’t want kids.  i seriously don’t understand what makes people want to procreate.  i don’t!  for the most part, i think kids are really gross.  i will admit that i am sometimes smitten by kids, but i have a strict rule:  they have to be very cute and well-behaved.  i mean, what’s worse than an ugly brat?  nothing.  gross.  just the other day – christmas eve, also gross – i was waiting for my chinese takeout and this hideous family was waiting to be seated.  their little hooligans were going insane running everywhere and at one point the filthy little boy sneezed on me.  on me.  ON me.  i should have filed a police report.  how disgusting!!!  and to add insult to injury, the mom was carrying her gold glitter christmas purse.  talk about an assault.  ugh.  where’s an acid bath when you need one??  ugh again.

i have been single most of my adult life.  i mean, i’ve had serious boyfriends and i was engaged… but the in-betweens were longer than the ins.  and, of course, i never got married.  you may or may not have read my posts about past dalliances; there were *ahem* a fair amount.  mother loose was definitely on the loose for years.  i mean, i’m still on the loose.  but now no one wants to catch me!  lol.  i also waited until i was 45 to make a big life commitment.  that was the year i adopted boo and the year i became mother goose.  boo is, basically, my kid.  she has been my little companion for almost nine years and has lived with me in six states and 17 different homes.  uh huh.  17.  she’s a trooper.  a super trouper.  she’s also super needy, a little physically fragile, sometimes annoying… and loves me unconditionally.  she’s also, to me, the cutest, sweetest, most delightful pooch ever.  and she has my heart.  that little bitch.  😉

Sex and The Spinster – The 40s. Part Two.

 

stache

back to denver… giddy up!

about a year into this particular denver adventure, i met a guy from chicago.  of course.  he was a rich kid from the north shore who tired of his life at the board of trade so decided to become a cab driver.  yeah.  i, of course, found this intriguing.  i would later find him to be one giant hot mess.  he was, though, fun for a hot minute.  he smoked a lot of pot, so sex wasn’t exactly his strong suit.  such a bummer.  he was a great companion and we had so many interesting conversations and so much fun.  he even had a cute dog AND he lived in boulder!  perfect.  lol.  the very last day we spent together, we took the dogs and had a long lunch on the patio of my favorite taco joint.  i had to go to work for a few hours that night, so he kept boo with him, dropped me off, and planned that he would hang at my place with the dogs and then pick me up after work.  but he never showed up.  and he wouldn’t answer his phone.  and i had given him my keys.  i walked home, he wasn’t there.  i had to break in through the dog door so i could grab my bike and ride around the neighborhood trying to find him.  i really only cared about finding boo, of course.  i was FURIOUS!  and totally freaked out!  i ended up calling a friend who drove over to pick me up and drive around.  i was hysterically crying, so worried about boo.  i finally got a text from him that he was at my place and we zoomed over.  he was haaaammmmmmered.  what happened is that he had decided to go to a neighborhood bar and get shitfaced while the dogs were in the car.  ggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.  do NOT leave my dog in a car on a shit part of colfax ave.  i wanted to kill him.  apparently he was so drunk that he couldn’t find my place, and ended up pulling over and trying to sleep it off.  good job on that one, denver cops, btw.   he was planning on driving back to boulder, because clearly i was not going to be good company that night, but i made him stay at my place.  cuz even though i wanted to kill him, i didn’t want him to die.  there was no hanky panky (do we still say that?) at all, i just went to bed and he slept on the couch.  the next morning, he was heading back to chicago for the holidays, so we hugged it out and said goodbye.  right after he left, i was coming out of the bathroom and noticed his boxers were on a shelf in the hallway.  i picked them up and realized that he had shit himself.  yep.  when people say i date shit men, they ain’t kiddin’.  we talked on the phone a couple days later and he explained that he had, indeed, crapped himself and took a shower while i was asleep.  he left the boxers there because he was mad at me.  heeeeee was mad at meeeeee.  *waves goodbye*

i moved back to chicago *again* shortly thereafter and over the summer became reconnected with a guy i knew from denver 20 years ago who had moved to california.  yeah, i’m confused by all of that, too… so many places… we became facebook friends and he immediately started calling me.  he also immediately started sending me pics of his penis.  like, after the first phone call.  i don’t get shocked or offended by that stuff, it makes me laugh because it’s so stupid.  it is NOT at all erotic.  note to men:  when you send a woman a dick pic, she’s going to share it with her friends and they are going to get a good chuckle out of it.  so keep sending ’em!  lol.  he was obviously very lonely, and apparently so was i, because we talked for hours every single night and did a lot of texting.  at one point, there was a huge tragedy in his family and he really started leaning on me for emotional support.  when things were heading towards healing, i flew out for a week.  and omg, he was still so hot.  jayzus.  we had a fantastic week and i remembered how much i loved northern california.  san francisco is one of my favorite places ever!  i ended up getting a job about four hours north of san francisco so packed up my stuff and headed west.  the plan was that i would land at his place for two nights before going up the coast.  i have never verified it, but i am 99% sure that in the interim he started dating a woman who was the mother of one of his son’s friends.  she became his girlfriend.  i mean, in retrospect, i totally get it.  they lived in the same town, both divorced, had kids the same age and were in aa… but not great timing on his part.  things were very uncomfortable and weird and i left after the first night.  my feelings were really hurt!  and i was angry, bien sur.  but i had a whole new and very busy life ahead of me, so it actually wasn’t that hard to leave behind.  thank god for distractions, no matter how miserable…

the end of my 40s were basically boring.  i did, though, have another fantastic visit from the 21-year-old.  he was 31 at the time, but will always be 21 to me… 🙂  i had a short fling with another facebook guy i “met” while living in california and then met in person.  btw, that guy sent me a video of pleasuring himself when i was still out of state.  gross.  i will say, that is gross.  dick pic, yes.  jerk video, no.  creeeeeepy.  *pub(l)ic service announcement*  but did i still meet up with him in denver?  yes.  because i was curious and he was really cute and had a really big…  anyway…   i also started a still-ongoing “vacation fun” sitch that is always a great time and will never be more than just that… there is something kind of freeing and magical to be with someone you know will never be more than just a fun time.  ya know??  #myspinsterlife  aaaaaaand i think that’s it!  boom!  done!  so far my 50s have been pretty fun.  but i have to wait ’til my 60s to discuss that, right?  if i’m still alive… 😉  xxoo