Sunday, February 27, 2011

Hearts on Ice

There is purity everywhere, or most places, so I've been told. In a water droplet, there is light, in a word there is enlightenment, in a look there is love.

And so on and so forth, enough to make me gag.

I am beginning to wonder, however, if this is true. The water that drips off my roof is filled with tar from old shingles (half of them fell off with the snow), my words are harsh and straight, and my look, well, only the kids get to see the love. I feel like they're the only ones I can trust with such a look.

Which leads me to the rather endearing conversation, one of many in the quiet moments of the morning, with the Sisco kid.

"You're my ice queen, baby, you were right."

"You know what, man, you know how you're gonna die? You're gonna choke on an ice cube. It'll come right out of my mouth and into your throat and you'll deserve it...d**chebag."

In between spurts of giggling and crying he didn't lose a beat.

"You know how you're gonna die? An ingrown horn. It's going to get infected, maybe the other one, too."

I'm not even safe in my own bed, people. Sarcasm and its glossy green armor is everywhere. So, when to let our guard down...you're asking the wrong girl. I try to take my cues from the many, open-hearted children in my life. They are not the innocent Shirley Temples of the world by any stretch. My son is devious, my daughter's mouth is undistilled venom, my teenage nephews have been lost to "sexting", and even my infant niece laughs with glee at an adult's sneer.

And yet, and yet. They have no guile, no walls and no regrets. In their presence, I know when my feet stink, my swearing is extensive and my eyes are baggy.

I also know when my dress looks nice, my smile is beautiful and I am the only person alive who can make "me laugh like that."

Thank you children, for your big hearts and honest eyes. I am sure that by the time you understand this blog you will be wearing that nasty armor.

Keep your horns clean!

Monday, February 14, 2011

Snarky love

I know what you're thinking, "Where's the jaded blog about how love sucks and Valentine's Day is a pile of Hallmark horsesh*t."

You got it, folks.

Singles' Awareness Day is, in short, a personal nightmare every year. Even for screaming hippie liberals with multi-colored children, the vast echo of singletude can be heard for miles in the human heart. Fortunately, today was Monday and I was naturally miserable anyway and so the sting of VD was a little less, well, sting-y.

But still...the red and pink displays that greet me in the front of the supermarket, the rampant FTD commercials (which I of course have renamed STD) on TV and the sickening heart-bedecked ads for overpriced "lover" meals at local eateries are all sly bitter reminders of my many failed attempts at L-O-V-E.

Several relationships, one marriage and two baby daddies later (and four days from my 34th birthday) I have learned not to expect any magic on this historically bloody, syrupy blip on the Roman calendar.

And, of course, this is the year that I find myself with an equally jaded companion who "gets" my cynicism and may even like me more for it. What can two souls do, who have no respect for the great American day of love?

We make fun of each other and the L.L. Bean-wearing, middle-aged quartet swilling themselves in wine at the table next door. And bemoan our lust/love foibles that got us here in the first place.

"That's us babe," he says shooting a glance to the other table. "Except that guy has more hair than I do."

"Nope, not us, not me anyway," I say, laughing. "I'm not cutting my hair that short. That means I've given up. And I will have my real teeth at that age. I would be devastated without my real teeth."

"That reminds me, did you know that females prefer longer, thicker penises?"

I practically choke on my pasta. Penne, ironically.

"I'm serious. Men with smaller penises are slowly becoming extinct."

"Thank god."

"That's awful. Can you imagine? I feel bad for the poor guy. Goes through life alone, unlaid..."

"Tough world," I say. "Not my problem."

Which reminds me, I need to update my spam filter. Someone named Shanea Obdulia keeps sending me email trying to entice me to make my penis bigger. 100% satisfaction. The spam for hydrocodone from Mr. Guang Li offers the same satisfaction.

Oddly, they are both correct.

Happy VD...

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Buried

How the hell is everyone else doing it? Just curious. I'm sitting here, looking at the goddamn snow (and at a giant spruce tree that might finally decide to fall on my house, maybe today) and wondering if I should even bother getting out of bed.

Of course, I will. I need to grab another cup of coffee and at some point a shower is in order, but still...STILL...this winter is like a bad mountain ballad. I'm just waiting for a lady with a silver dagger to come and drive it through my heart. No roses wrapped around briers this time of year.

Back to my original question, how are you doing it? Is it a day-to-day gig where you take the winter one moment at a time and try to resist the urge to light fire to your own socks because your feet are so cold? I'm finding very small pockets of joy here and there; last night I ate my fill of oysters and went to bed warm. That was nice. And the glass of brandy I had on Thursday helped move the evening along. And who doesn't look forward to a scorching shower in the middle of the day?

In a winter like this, it really is the little things. It has to be. Everyone I talk to is broke (or broken) and depressed, or both. Oil is going like water through a sieve, food has lost its taste, a vacation means taking Valium before noon.

You get the point.

I have no real lesson to offer here. This too shall pass, that's what my mother says all the time.
Actually, she was telling me about her financial woes and I tried to comfort her with that same line.

"Don't worry, Ma, this too shall pass." I nearly choked on the words.

"Oh, f*ck that. Maybe in a couple of years but by then I won't care."

"Woooow."

Then it was her turn.

"Only six more weeks of winter according to Punksatawny Phil...and Long Island Chuck."

"Who the f*ck is Long Island Chuck?"

"The backup groundhog. Low budget."

"Oh, in case I shoot the other mofo in the head for seeing his shadow?"

"Exactly."

Good luck, folks. Steelers are gonna win, btw.