Finding Zen

It's 5am. Do You Know Where Your Soap Has Been?

The other day my morning radio talk show folks were discussing the topic of bodily cleanliness.  Someone asked the question:

'You don't use the same loofah you use to wipe your butt, to wash your face DO YOU?'

And immediately everyone was all like:

'oh hell no!  are you crazy? pfffff'. 

And I sat there in my car hearing this thinking to myself, why, I have never considered this before.  Suddenly I felt this sinking, pit of my stomach, omg, am I a dirty hippy feeling. 

Does the rest of the world actually have TWO loofahs stocked in their showers?  One for ass/cooch/and balls and another for everything else?  No way!?  I have NEVER seen two god damned loofahs in your shower.  Had I been raised wrong?  Had I been in the dark all these years?  Had I not gotten the FUCKING MEMO?

And then they went on to discuss bars of soap.  Same question. 

'You don't use the same soap you swipe your butt with, to rub all over the rest of your body...do you??' 

Again.  Same response in unison. 

'Oh hell no!  That's gross! Ewwwww!'. 

Panic.  Omg.  I totally just swiped my whooha this morning and two seconds later rubbed it in my face and guess what.  I didn't think a damn thing of it. 

ITS FUCKING SOAP!!  And I had always assumed that the loofah at all times has got to be pretty damn clean...seeing how it spends most of its life soaked in soap.  RIGHT?  RIGHT PEOPLE???

Tell me you don't have separate soaps, and separate loofas for your ass.  Because if you do, I'm just going to pack my bags tonight and go quarantine myself from the rest of you FREAKS!

Now what this conversation DID do for me, was enlighten me to the FACT that I may think twice before I ever use someone elses bar of shower soap to wash my face. 

Stella on Tap

I'm on tap.  Are you ready?  Here I go.  *pump, pump, pump, pump, pump* 5 pumps aught to get us flowin good.

We're gonna do this Edge style.   For once.  Because I don't have the energy to distinguish one thought from the next for you tonight.

Full.  I feel full.  And sometimes so much so that I fear if I consume another breath it might be my last.   I 'phoned a friend' not too long ago and we discussed my upcoming wedding.  He asked if I was beginning to feel 'gassy yet'.  I said, 'why yes, I do feel gassy as a matter of fact'.  He explained to me that being farty was something that happens to people who are getting ready to get married.  I tried to tell him that I wasn't feeling farty gassy, but rather full and bloated gassy.  He told me 'you just wait'.  I really hope I don't have farty gas on July 15th.

Anxious.  Anxious about life, always, but particularly about leaving a country whose borders I've not crossed.  Ever.  Before.  Anxious about money, and choices, and danger, and dysentery, and terrorists, and not having a place to drive off to when I just want some time to myself.  About leaving my friends, my dog, my Vern.  My family...even though they always seem so distant to me.  Anxious about getting robbed, or raped, falling off the side of a mountain in a bus, getting Japanese encephalitis, or malaria. Anxious that we won't have our good friends Lexapro and Adderall for a WHOLE YEAR, when we will probably need it most.  I am anxious about getting married.  Not because I am unsure of my choice, but because I will be entrusting the REST. OF. MY. LIFE. to another human being.  One that has a penis and looks at porn, and probably uses the word 'pussy' instead of 'her delicate flower' to his friends.

Frustrated.  I feel I can't absorb enough.  And as quickly as my brain receives, processes, and reasons, my anxiety/OCD/ADD/whatever it is, is always there to give a preemptive strike.

So I am full, anxious, and frustrated and all the while bursting at the seams with anticipation for all the uncertainties that lie before me.  All of my belongings stowed away in a basement, our home and all the hard work we put into it is now someone else's, the money is in the bank, Marley is scheduled for his 'de-nutting', and in a closet somewhere hangs side by side a groom's 'bespoke' and a brides 'Lazaro' waiting for their big day.  The boy's business is in the process of changing hands, we are scheduled for a month full of shots, (see: Japanese encephalitis), I will say goodbye to my Marley and turn him over to my dear friend Kat and cross my fingers that he remembers me when I come back. 

I am on a steady diet of Twix bars (thank you A) and Prilosec, and while one might imagine I am counting the days left to 'the big day', I am more interested in the number of days I have left in comfortable beds with pillowtop mattresses and McDonalds, Taco Bell, B&J's Chubby Hubby, Nutty Butty bars, Kraft Mac and Cheese, and all the faces and places familiar to me.  I am absorbing my Americano, because I know I will go thru a withdrawl unlike the common traveler excited to experience all the authentico offerings of his new surroundings.

Holy shit.  We're really doing this.

I better find my chi.

p.s.  I just can't wait another 3 days to 'unveil' May's header.  Compliments, AGAIN, by my dearest Karen.  She gives good head.

Evidence of Victory

Look guys!  It's Vernie of Blog Fame!

She created the child that got drunk and gambled $600 dollars on the chance that I might have to go without the fabulous camera that took this shot of his mother last night.  Legend has it the man child was 10lbs upon birth.  The nurse looked at him and said 'Take this baby to the kitchen and give it a steak dinner!'.  Can you imagine this little Vernie labored a 10lb toddler?  I don't believe it.

Next we have Still Life With Loofa and Car Keys

   

I'm telling you people.  Only a camera this nices makes a loofa look this good.  Maybe now he has learned not to fuck with the Yahtzee Master.

While I'm at it.  Why don't I show you all Mr. Buck.  He is very...Bill Gates meets Robert Redford, and pretty damn handsome for a man in his 70's.  The man could outrun me any day.  And his espanol makes me want to cry.  He's very Harvard.  I mean, Duke.  Very, duke LAW.  To be exact.

And people always think Vern is my mother.  I actually look like the offspring of these two...and none of us are related to Mr. Buck.   I am NOT naked pictured here with Vern, I just couldn't let you all see my wedding dress!  Yet.

 

   

Stella Takes Finance To The House

We call it 'Shot-zee'.  You may know it as, 'Yahtzee'.  It is the game we play when we don't want to think hard enough to put words together in Scrabble.  It is the game we play when we want to drink.  After all, how much coordination does one really need to roll dice eh?  It's perfect.

Let me set the scene for you.

Saturday.  It's yard sale day.  Only we don't have a yard.  We pack for the better part of the afternoon while people stroll in and out of our home rummaging through our things.  3pm rolls around and Finance gets a call from his buddy to go play kick ball and drink beers in the park.  It is his best friends birthday.  I could not go, because we still had things to sell.  And I didn't want to miss out on the opportunity to try and sell all my bridesmaids dresses. 

A side-note:  I don't care how pretty, cute, or neutral you think your bridesmaids dresses are...they will NEVER be worn again.  So please don't tell me, 'You totally could wear this again'.  Because I 'could', but I won't. 

N-E-who.  So Finance goes off to kickball, and I stay at the house and drink cider all day.  He is at the park getting shit housed.  I get tired and take a nap.  8:30pm rolls around and I go pick him up and take him to get dinner.  He is tanked.  We go have chicken nachos and more drinks.  I pick up a bottle of wine and Ben and Jerry's Chubby Hubby on the way home. 

We decide to play Yahtzee.  I suggest we bet for money.  There is a camera I REALLY REALLY WANT.    In fact, it is DOOCE's camera.  I want it for our trip around the world, and I have been practically selling my soul piece by piece to get the money together to buy it.  And I know he has dollars.

I pull out my flow and count out about 100 bucks.  He pulls out of his pants pocket a wad of bejamins and throws them on the table.  Asshole.  He just sold his motorcycle a few weeks ago, and has been carrying around this cash like it is nothing.  I would have spent it within 3 days.  This is why Finance always has money and I don't.  He doesn't spend.  And the satisfaction he gets out of watching my face in disgust as he throws down 600 dollars in cash, is PRICELESS. 

There are 6 games in a round of Yahtzee.  He suggests that we bet a hundred bucks a game, knowing full well that I can't match him.  I tell him I don't have that kind of money.  He says 'Well okay then, how bet we bet all or nothing.  You win, I'll buy your camera.  You lose, you get no camera.'  Naturally I want to know the specifics.  So I inquire:

'If I lose, does it mean that I just cant get THAT camera?  Or I can't buy any camera at all for the trip and have to use the shitty $100 dollar one we bought in Texas last year?'

He replies:  'You get NADA'.

Alrighty then.  So I think about this, while he is mumbling on and on about how I always want something and blah blah blah, and this would be the ultimate test, and I just can see he is fantasizing about the prospect that I might have to go without something that 'I THINK' I really need.  I say 'You're not gonna be happy when you lose.'.  He replies 'It's just money' with a big ol grin on his face.

So it's on.  And he gets the video camera out and we video tape each round.  We burn through the bottle of wine, and as finance is losing he pulls out the Macallans.  He is shit-hiz-OUSED!

And guess who wins?  Yours truely.  Thank you very much, I'll take your dollars.  Thanks for playing.

I grab the camera and start filming his response.  He's slowed down quite a bit, and he is completely miffed that he has lost.  It is clear that he is having trouble processing it all.  So I hit record, and say 'Awww sweetie.  It's okay, I'll kick you back the money after I sell my first print'. 

He says to me, 'You're dreams are just fantasies!!!'. He looks like Gargamel.  And he's not handling the loss so gracefully.

I say: 'Okay, now you're being ugly.  And I'm going to bed'.  End record.  And I go to bed.

The next morning we are both hungover and lying in bed bathing in the nastiness that is lots of beer, cider, gin, Macallans, and wine.  He gets out of bed to let the dogs out.  A few minutes pass, and I have heard the dogs come back in and there is dead silence for a good 5 minutes. 

You know how kids get real quiet when they disappear into another room and are either pooping in their pants, or getting into something they shouldn't be?

Well, I get suspicious and creep down the hallway to investigate.  I walk in on him in the kitchen, naked as the day he was born, back to me leaning over the counter with a pencil and a calculator and our Yahtzee scorecards, making sure he really lost.

FUCKING PRICELESS!

Donde Esta El Ham-bear-gwessa?

Who is the fairest gringa of them all?

Dooooood.  I totally took her to the house.