An Ironic Way with Words

Thank you for reading my blog.

Thank you for permeating me in ways that I don't label - to you or myself. In ways I don't realize. In ways that linger.

Thanks.

It's a funny thing...the written word.

I am told that I have a command of language. I am told that I write well. I am told I should leave the amateurs and go pro (as IF!). I'm very humbled by you that tell me these kind things.

Funny thing is....I don't read well.

I was struck today by the irony of my reading comprehension disorder juxtaposed with this (alleged) ability to write well. And all I could do was chuckle.

At first I was frustrated. Why can't I *get* this?! I'm a professional for God's sake! I'm sitting in a training class, studying legal documents, learning petroleum industry verbiage, and I just checked out. I had not the capacity to absorb any more information. So, le poof!, I daydreamed.

It's haunting for me to be on a college campus. I get both reminiscient and excited. I feel smart when I'm in a classroom. I'm not sure if I've ever blogged about my one regret in life which is not finishing college. I will do it. Someday I will. I promise. *

I've always been sad that I didn't have that fun collegiate time of life filled with rush, sorority life, drunkenness, loose behavior with boys, football games, basketball games, away from home, coming home for Spring Break, summer nanny jobs, all nighter study groups....you get the point. COLLEGE LIFE. I so longed for it, too. My dream was to go to University of Texas, Austin, and I actually was accepted. Prior to that, I had a full scholarship to the American Music and Drama Academy in NYC. The NYC gig was my DREAM COME TRUE. (Imagine how different my life would be?!)

So, due to parental constraints and financial limitations, coupled with general ignorance, I reluctantly attended the local college and grieved the loss of so many friendships, as well as the loss of any dream I had. Oh, and made such terrible grades that I was put on academic probation. Did I mention the hundreds of dollars of parking tickets because I was too lazy to park where I would (God forbid) have to walk!

Pretty sad really, but yet, necessary. Trust the process, right?

Since then, whenever I re-enroll to chip away at that psychology degree, my heart bleeds and cringes at the memory of not being able to go to college on my terms. My soul minimizes to that fear-filled eighteen year old who is bitter, resentful and sad, who longed to have adventure instead of the safety net of a sheltered military-brat lifestyle. Now when I walk on a campus, I return to eighteen-year-old Jackie and try to remember that I'm where I'm supposed to be. This is how it is for me. I accept that. Still, I can't make those feelings NOT come, and I hate that.

Today my training was on a college campus. During an afternoon break, I watched some guys practice soccer. I found myself escaping to twenty-something, without a serious (grown-up) care in the world. I found myself imagining what their lives must be like....so casual and slow, easy and breezy. They were probably most stressed about if their car is running to get them back and forth to school, their soccer game coming up, a test or paper due before long. They probably woke up around 10 a.m., ate a bowl of cereal while listening to music, kicked scattered clothes into a pile for laundry day. I had their lives all figured out in the five minutes of break I had from Farmouts, JOAs and DOIs.

In actuality, certainly they have more stress than I will ever know. But, you get the idea. Right?

I continue to daydream. I imagine my thin frame running around NYC with gay friends, eccentric friends, friends who are just as doe-eyed as me. I dream of studying scripts and blocking, choreography. Maybe at AMDA, I'll finally get voice lessons and learn to carry a tune. Dance would be a favorite, and if I could sing, surely I'd be in a musical. If not, well, I'd still make a good stage actress, getting overly made up. I'd have that struggling-starving artist experience of having to get paid by three jobs so I could hit audition after audition hoping today would be my day. I feel the anticipation of awaiting callbacks. I feel the sharpness of being the competitive lead, or relegated to understudy. I wonder if I'd get to see a lot of shows like RENT, or LION KING or CATS because someone I graduated with knows someone who knows someone. I wonder if I'd still be living there, disconnected from my real friends....living a life of snobbery and vanity. Would I be friends with David Letterman? Might I have been an extra in Sex In The City? Of course, I'd travel as much as I could.

Who knows?

But, yeah, I still dream about it. And I miss the life I never had.

All that big stuff was pent up in this frustrating moment of me realizing that in my new job, I have to read a lot of particular details in very boring documents. But these details actually interest me, and the documents are extremely challenging because not only is all new to me, it's also an exercise of my brain which I have not had to do since my college years. To attend is a struggle. To read the documents, comprehend them all, put them in context, analyze and then define what needs to be done to help a royalty owner, has become such a hurdle. I've been spoon-fed a process for almost seven years now. My study skills in college are horrible. So, today, reading all that stuff really frustrated me. And then I thought, 'how ironic that I can't comprehend what I read very well, but I am a writer.'

I'll get it. I am sure of that. It's not coming as quickly as I'd like it to, but my rationale keeps me grounded. This job will easily take six months to a year to train. I will be an expert someday. And someday equals hope. And you can't go wrong when you have hope.

Gratitude!
~me

* When re-reading the post, I realized this paragraph became ambiguous. Was I promising to graduate college or promising to blog about graduating college? hahahahaha. What I meant is: I will indeed graduate college someday....someday....someday.

Poetry

I wish I wrote poetry more....in fact, I have one brewing that I just might post on here eventually.
Poetry inspires me.
I love the imagery of it.
I love that so much of the language is open to personal interpretation.

Then I love how blunt it can be....

i like my body when it is with your body.
It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body.
i like what it does,
i like its hows.
i like to feel the spine
of your body
and its bones, and the trembling-firm-smoothness
and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . .
And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you quite so new

~e.e. cummings~

Easter Bunnies

Hoppy Easter Y'all!

OH! OH! OH! And One More Thing....

How 'bout Dem Mavs!!!!

University of Texas, Arlington (Mavericks!), my alum, has been invited to the NCAA March Madness Tournament!! Whoo freakin hoo!! It's their FIRST EVER appearance in the tournament.

Each and every one of you better root for them!!

(Quit laughing. G'night.)

Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?

You already know I have a propensity for languages. So it should be no surprise when I tell you that I memorized the title phrase before I ever knew what it meant. If anyone had asked me how to spell it on my way out of church that day, I would've nailed it (no pun intended!).

It is alternately Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?

It means My God, My God, why have you abandoned me? It has also been translated as, My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?

It's Holy Week in the Catholic Church, so expect me to be kind of religious the next few days maybe even weeks. Easter is my favorite time of year as you know. Not only does it remind me that life is worth living AND dying, I marinate in memories of my own Baptism ~ Confirmation ~ First Communion two years ago.

It's the time when we suffer like Christ to die and rise again. It's the time when I most pure. I've received absolution and forgiveness for sins. Even though this Lent has been kind of blah for me, I have done some things that I never thought I would. One is making a confession for sins of the flesh to my priest. I was shaking and terrified because I sorewas swirling and swimming in the greatness of Palm Sunday today. The phrase of which I speak is found in the gospels, in the passages of The Passion (Mark 27:46 and Matthew 15:34).

Remember my previous post about how Christ evidences His humanity so that we can identify with Him instead of being afraid of "perfection" (i.e., we're told to be Christ-like, but how can I ever be perfect? Haven't you ever thought that too? Haven't you ever thought that Jesus was perfect? Haven't you then had this feeling of despair, maybe even guilt that you'll never be able to be like Him?)?

Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani? certainly shows us Jesus's humanness, doesn't it? Raw, on the cross, body broken, spirit challenged, emotionally drained, Jesus feels alone. Betrayed. Forgotten. Even though He knew it was His Father's Will and He accepted it; and yet in the end, He still doubted. He was still afraid. He was still in pain spiritually, physically and emotionally.

Yeah. I'm like Jesus. Yeah. Jesus is like me. And that, my friends, is freeing.

The Presentation Song (when the bread and wine are being prepared for transubstantiation) was "Jerusalem, My Destiny". It has a lovely melody that resounds in my soul. The chorus epitomizes what I believe is true for every single human being. Take a look:

I have fixed my eyes on your hill, Jerusalem, my destiny!

Though I cannot see the end for me, I cannot turn away.

We have set our hearts for the way, this journey is my destiny!

Let no on walk alone.

The journey makes us one.

We are all one.

That is truth undeniable.

What separates us from one another: us.

Music: Jesus, Remember Me by Taize

Alabama -- Roll Tide Roll!

So....I worked a little late on Thursday because I arrived late for one, and because I was going to be out of pocket most of the day on Friday. I'm about to leave, when I decide to check my email right quick-like.

There's a notice from classmates dot com that I have mail in my inbox there.

*perk*

*quickly enters the website and checks my inbox*

Okay. Remember: I'm a military brat. And, um, military brats aren't known for keeping friendships because we've moved around so much; especially the earlier ones from grade school! My best friend in Virginia is the earliest "in my life friend I've stayed in touch with", and she and I met in seventh grade. We are still close to this day, even through all the separation then and now.

In Alabama, like many of my dad's stations as I recall, we either lived on base and I went to school off base, or we lived off base and I attended the neighborhood school. In Alabama, the latter applies. Not sure why I felt compelled to type that, but there ya go. :) JM, as I recall, wasn't a military kid, and it appears he graduated high school at the neighborhood school that the elementary feeds into. Perhaps me being a fly-by is why JM remembered me -- because I was a military brat and wasn't there very long.... Or, the letter might've triggered something.

Jackie's Memories of Jackie by Jackie in Jackie's Sixth Grade Year......

*tap* *tap* *tap*

*think, think, think*

Hmmm....weeeeelllll, when I was in sixth grade, I was miserable. I have very sad memories of my sixth grade year. Our family lived in Alabama for only six months. Those six months were the beginning of my sixth grade year. Then we relocated to Ft. Bliss, Texas (El Paso) half way through that school year. Anyway, my parents fought a lot. My brother didn't seem happy (he seemed to have more trouble adjusting to our moves, plus he was a full-on teenager by this time). We relocated from Hawaii, so the cultural differenences seemed so drastic. Also, about this time, I was becoming self-aware, particularly about my body. My mother enrolled me in cheerleading and softball, both of which I enjoyed, both which I felt like a total misfit. I was bigger than the other girls....as in FATTER. And some of the girls made fun of me. I'm not scarred for life as a result of those six months, and even though I have very few memories of my childhood of actual events, I do have a sharp recollection of how I felt during certain times. I felt incredibly out of place in Alabama my entire time there.

My handful of memories about BAMA are: seeing a red paw print everywhere, the red clay, running a lot for softball, unhappy family life, my first 'C' on my report card (I was sooo scared to go home that day!) and humidity.. I don't remember having any friends at all. I can name some friends I made along the way, even prior to the sixth grade, but I'm unable to recall even one from Alabama. I remember a couple of crushes I had. But the names are there without the face or vice versa.

It's quite odd to me to have feelings but not images.

Now, with that all being said, I was so amazingly shocked when I got an email from a guy that remembered me in that lonely, sad time of life. And, unexpectly, a gift arrives in my lap:

I just had to say hello. I hope you remember me from Mr. R's 6th grade class at [our] Elementary [school in Alabama]. I lost touch with you when you moved to El Paso but I still have your letter that I actually found just the other day as a matter of fact. My dad had me go through some of my old stuff and I happened to stumble upon it. Anyway, thought I would say hello. JH from our class ended up back here as well. I ran into him at a soccer game. Anyway, I'm glad you are doing well and your kids are beautiful. Take care and drop me a line sometime. I would love to catch up.

P.S. I lived in El Paso for four years. Fort Bliss was my last duty station.


How FUN is THIS?!

My first reaction: Letter?! I wrote you a letter?! What is in that letter?! I wanna see the letter!! It's evidence of something that surely must be destroyed!!!

My second reaction: Who *is* RM? I cleared off the cobwebs (quite the chore!) and check out his pictures on line and YES! There he is!! I *do* remember him!! (Because we all know how horrible it is when someone remembers you but you don't remember them...yeah...THAT feeling was swelling up in my belly.)

Subsequently, I began swimming in memories of "JH" he mentioned (who is one of those crushes I recalled), of our home in Alabama (lots of lawn to mow!), and even began daydreaming about how my life might have been so different had I graduated high school there.

I immediately write him back at his personal email address he left for me, and heard back again from him today. I have talked and talked about this beautiful work of God for the last three days. I am so taken aback! I am almost speechless (though not wordless as you can tell) as a result of this. RM says he's going to scan the letter and send it to me. OMG I will feel like a giddy 12 year old again, I just KNOW it!

Anyway, RM, if/when you read this, thank you. Thank you for making my day, my weekend. Thank you for keeping that letter, and then after all this time, acting on what you found!! Thank your dad for me, please. I cannot tell you how moved I am. (And it's rare that a guy reaches out a girl like this, isn't it? I mean, chicks seem to do it more often, no?)

Y'know....my life is great. As much as I struggle with my motherhood, my daughterhood, my work; as much turmoil as I have endured and the monkeys (monkies?) on my back....I feel good today. I look back at the big picture of my life, and admire the details. I snuggle in a big recliner, a glass of wine in my head. My eyes peer through my glasses, my hair swept off my face so that I can take a good, hard look at my painting which is l - i - f - e, and I SMILE.

There is no better artist than My God. And thank YOU, God, for bring me and RM together in this wild, wacky world you've made for us.

~Swoosh!

Atlanta Disaster

Have you heard about Downtown Atlanta's tragic and devastation news??? It appears an alleged tornado hit Centennial Park and caused mass destruction and injury!! I tried to go to CNN's website and it actually took 3 seconds to load instead of 1.3

I wonder where Our Country went wrong. I wonder how George Bush can be blamed for *this* natural disaster, too.

It's Been A Long Two and A Half Years

I decided a few years back that I wanted to learn how to sew quilts. I learned quite a bit about them, took a class even. I was gifted many sewing accoutrements, and went crazy at the fabric store stocking up on material.

I dabbled in quilting but I have to say -- it's very difficult, especially if you aren't good at math. hahaha.... I'm not good at math. :)

So, I turned to making pajamas for My Eldest. Also, she has a little table with four chairs that is now used more by My Little One. It comes in very handy when we have a house full of kids. It's pretty marked up from all the action it's seen. So I make a table cloth and napkins for the holidays and occasions. I also make table runners for members of my family to put out at holiday times. I get a few compliments so I figure I must be doing something right.

I even had notions of starting my own business and taking my table runners and kids linen sets to trade and craft shows. I never did do it. Then, pregnancy number two occurred and I put all sewing on hold. Then we moved into our house. My sewing machine has hibernated the last two and a half years, and last week, she emerged from her slumber, ready to tackle a fun project.

Of course, the sewing machine isn't the only hibernating bear to awaken. I'm almost afraid to document this, but fear never got me anywhere good, so here goes: I think *I* am awakening again, too! I find myself humming and singing again, dancing around the house more, caring if my floors are swept or not and actually acting on it by sweeping! I think maybe, *just maybe*, I'm coming out of my funk....

With that being said, My Eldest went away to her first ever away from home all weekend camp with her Brownie's troop. On the schedule was a sock hop! So, momma bear decided her baby bear needed a poodle skirt, and by gosh, momma bear was gonna MAKE ONE! From SCRATCH!

It wasn't easy, mind you. The two hardest parts were making the waistband, but prior to that, getting the measurements correct. Two nights in a row, I stayed up pretty late to complete it, and I have to say, I'm very proud of it!! My mother in law, who is a master seamstress, helped me pin and center the waistband.

I love it and so did My Eldest! Gonna try to make one for My Little One, too. Here's the final product up close and personal:

Stitchin' in time,
~Jax

Today's Traffic Report

I have made an effort to NOT watch the news anymore. It brings me down too much. If I watch it, I'm watching weather and/or sports. That's it. Nothing else. I used to be a news junkie. I remember in my single days, I'd be at home cleaning or doing whatever and I'd have Headline News in the background. Yeah -- same news every 30 minutes. I'd have it on CNN at times. For a person who loves music so much, I didn't listen nearly enough to it back then....

I digress.

Every morning, I listen to sports talk radio. There is, of course, a traffic report. Typically the traffic report blows through my ears because I don't take the freeways to work. However, this morning, I was not so lucky. This morning, I got to hear the traffic report, and then the story behind one of the reasons traffic was help up along a major highway in town.

What kind of person throws their own children off of an overpass into oncoming traffic below then jumps into it herself?! Holy Mother of God! You have no idea the restraint I'm using to avoid using every cuss word in the book right now. Seriously.

Yeah -- you read that right. A mother took her two kids, ages five and eight, and tried to kill them before killing herself!! IN TRAFFIC!!!! WTF?!

It is (thankfully) unfathomable how a mother can do that to her own kids. It kills me when I have to discpline my own in a firm voice. I cannot image getting to a black, dark, desolate place in my own head where I would commit such a selfish, cruel and flat out fucked-up act as this woman.

When I heard Craig Miller say why the traffic was held up, all I could do was cry and pray. Then I got pissed. I mean HOTWICKEDANGRYMAD. This is one of the rare moments that even I question the motivations of God. I think it's pretty ignorant and well, frankly, idiotic when people say stupid shit like "if there was really a God, why did he send Hurrican Katrina and kill all those people?". I'm falling into the ignorance and idiotic myself today wonder why people in this lifetime who have kids, are not responsible with them, and conversely, people who desperately want them and seem plenty capable of having them can't seem to adopt or bear their own. I get it. I trust God. I surrender as previously posted. But just because I trust the process doesn't mean I still don't question it.

Hmmm.....As I'm typing this out, I'm realizing that God didn't cause this situtation, nor did he allow it to happen. In fact, sadly enough, God wasn't allowed to be involved in this situation.

Free will. This woman imposed her free will. Instead of trusting that God would provide all for her and her kids, she shoved Him out and sabotaged her world, the worlds of her children and the world of any of the folks driving into Dallas that both witnessed and were directly impacted (pun intended) by this horrific act of cowardice.

It has since been reported that the all three survived. I'm relieved to hear this news, and it will be interesting to hear how the law handles this situation....*if* I decided to follow the news story.

There.....

Now I feel better.

Celebrating Two

I decided it might be a spirit-uplifter to celebrate My Little One's birthday along bedside at my father-in-law's hospital room. I stopped by the grocery story and picked up some little cupcakes, rainbow-sprinkled doughnuts, some individual servings of strawberry ice cream, water and chocolate milk. I threw in my basket some party plates, napkins and cups to take with us to the hospital.

My father-in-law didn't know we were coming so he was surprised when everyone walked in his room. We asked him if he realized why we were there and why we had birthday celebratory regalia. He looked over at his calendar and said, "no....I don't kow what today is." So My Husband reminded him that it's was My Little One's second birthday.

FIL: Are you two today??! Happy Birthday!
MLO: Yeah.
FIL: How old are you? (prompting her to hold up two fingers
MLO: (holds up two fingers and confusing it with the 'I love you' sign we are teaching her)

We stumbled through getting everything prepared and sung to her. My FIL ate the doughnut and some ice cream and even stomached down some chocolate milk.

I think it helped perk him up that we brought the party to him. We'll be have a Count von Count themed party this weekend for The Baby of The Family, but at least this way, he was able to be included more hands-on. I'm looking forward to the day that he is able to be at our house for a party. For now, taking it one day at a time, I'm praying he just gets motivated to live each day.

~whoosh!

A Not So LIttle Little One Anymore

She's two today.

You're TWO today, My Little One. Where did the last year go? Is it under my bed? Did you hide it in the peanut butter jar? Come back to me. Let me be mommy again.

You're amazing beyond belief. I have to admit, I was worried. When I was pregnant, I was plagued by thoughts of "how am I going to love TWO of them?", and "how could I love this one when I absolutely love My Eldest *so.much* -- how can I split that love?!" and "what if I don't bond with The New One as deeply?"

Well, thank God, I *do* love you just as much! I have bonded with you in a new and unbelieveable way that is unique to y - o - u. My love isn't split. My love is different for each of you. How wonderful to know that God has built me with the capability to love each of you as you are each.

Mommy is so proud of you. I look at you and laugh out loud. Just the image of you saying things or doing things make me chuckle while I'm at work or talking about you at church to the teenagers I teach.

Some of my favorite things about you:

wild blonde curls with the reddish sheen

stickers stacked on top of one another instead of next to each other

I runnin'!

You're fascination with Count von Count

How you say "mama"

the shape of your lips, and their color -- a deep rouge, so plump and kissable

those blue eyes that you roll to the side or look up and away when you are pretending not to hear me correct you

your desire to pick your own clothes

rejection of clothes

wearing my bras

dance wiff me, mama!

toes are to tickle!

determination -- you are like daddy with that stubborn desire to finish things

again! again! again mama!

I have so many special memories of you My Little One. I pray they don't fade.

Thank you, my sweet, for making me smile all those times when I just didn't think I had the energy to smile...the strength to do it....the desire to do it. Thanks for breaking me out of my bad mood and loving me unconditionally. Thank you for your sweet kisses and your jealous possessiveness (dats MY mama!). Thank you for loving your sister and your daddy. I love learning all about you, and maybe more importantly, learning from you.

I know it's your birthday, today, My Little One, and yes, I got you a gift or two.

But, truly, YOU are a gift to me. And I'm humbled by your constant gift-giving. I feel like I have a birthday every day! Every moment I am with you, I hear party horns blowing, see lit candles and feel wishes come true.

Happy Birthday, my sweet Little One.

The Rising of Lazarus

I have to admit, this Lent has been VERY difficult for me. My heart isn't in it. I'm not in a place where I welcome my faith wholeheartedly. I'm half-assing it this year. I've willingly eaten meat on Fridays. I haven't followed through with my Lenten commitments. I can't believe Easter is upon us already!

The story of the Rising of Lazarus is simply eloquent, yet so incredibly soul-stirring. What I love about this passage so much is that Jesus is 'perturbed' and Jesus 'wept', and he was 'deeply troubled' As I read this passage and reflect, what is revealed to me is this:

Jesus and I are no different from one another in our human forms!

Jesus IS human!

He was PERTURBED. Jesus was irritated! He was frustrated!!

He WEPT. He shed tears because he was so sad that people didn't 'get it'. His OWN INNER CIRCLE *still* DO NOT 'get it'!

How frustrating and sad that must've been for Him, indeed.......

I have learned from my priest to see the story behind the story. What a challenge! I'm always so thankful that Monsignor provides me with a clue so I don't have to actually pick up my Bible, read the passage and think (egads!)! (Shame on me!)

An image that the priest described was an alternate meaning to the useage of "flesh" in scripture. Often times "humanity" can be interchanged with the word "flesh". Pretty cool, huh? I'm going to try in future readings to see if that substitution works. Should be quite revealing and thought-provoking.

I am piqued by the cautious belief of the sisters Martha and Mary. Mary, especially. Mary says (paraphrasing): I don't get it, but I believe. I don't understand this, but okay; I surrender. You are The One. Damn! It's so hard to just surrender, isn't it? I believe I've embraced the concept as I've aged, but oh my, still such a struggle...still a long way to go to get to that disposition of Mary.

I am also reminded by this scripture reading that I need to learn more about historical context in biblical times. I need to learn more about Judaism and Israel, the customs and traditions of the time when Jesus walked the Earth. I bring this up because something was said during the homily that some researchers actually consider this story to be the final straw of what divided the beleivers and the nonbelievers. It is what divided the Christians and the Jews. I want to understand that more academically so I can understand it in it's truth. I've no opinion at this point because I'm claiming ignorance; which is exactly why I need to...pick up more religious material and learn.

Ahhhh Thomas. Doubting Thomas. Love him!

Off to another blog post.....

Snow

I have to laugh.

We had snow in Dallas a couple of times this week.

Snow in Dallas is always a giggle. Why? Because people FREAK OUT around here. It's the biggest story when we get just a powdering of it. Granted, some of the northern suburbs got more than just a powdering. In fact, it was a measurable. In inches! There was five to twelve inches of snow up yonder (I often refer to the northern suburbs of Dallas as 'Southern Oklahoma' because it's such a friggin' drive to go see most of my friends who live up there. Talk about major social planning! Geez.)

In any case, my friends who live up North, along the U.S./Canada border have to be reading this laughing their asses off! They are buried in wicked snow, piled eight, nine feet high after shoveling the driveway. I saw pictures of the fenced-in back yard of a friend, and I kid you not, it looked like God dumped an abundance of marshmallow creme into the squared-off lot, then took a knife and leveled the humps off so that it filled the fenced in area perfectly. Those frozen-tundra folk have to live with that stuff every winter, which mind you is longer that any winter we'll ever see in The Great State of Texas!

And us Southerners are funny how we welcome the snow. We close schools. People leave work early because of "The Winter Storm". Did you know there is such a thing as thundersnow? Yeah. A thunderstorm and a snow storm. Not sure how common this phenomenon is elsewhere, but in my youthful 37 years, I have never, not once, ever heard the phrase "thundersnow".

Hahahahahahaha.

Yeah.

I have to laugh.

~whoosh!

P.S. Here is My Eldest in The Great Snowstorm of 2008.

I'm still chuckling.....

Water Sign

At the risk of sounding like I have sexual identity issues, I'm going to take the risk anyway. Additionally, this blog is filled with gender-specific stereotypes so if you're a feminist, either quit reading or put your "I promise to not be defensive" hat on and pop a squat.

I'm not comfortable being female today.

Don't get me wrong, I am comfortable with my feminity. I feel like a woman. I like the special things of being a girl in the world, such as motherhood, curves, the flirtatious tuck of hair behind my ear, a nice bra and kissable lips. I like inviting others to explore their femine side. I believe women should be women and men should be men, and women should not be a man's equal.

Men. They are indeed yummy. And irritating. Alluring. Obnoxious. Protective. Immature. It's no secret I'm a big flirt. Nor is it a secret that I have at least one crush a day. I am fascinated about what makes men tick, so observing and conversing about the male psyche is always a good time. Granted, it's frustrating, but ironically, I get along with men more than I do women. Always have. I think it's because so much of me thinks like a man. I guess I don't feel as judged by the men. Women size me up and I just don't like how catty we can be to one another.

I like sports. I am especially knowledgeable about NFL football. I can hang with most any sports topics of conversation on some level. It's served me well in the past when trying to attract men. I don't use my knowledge for The Attraction Game anymore, but it does gain me some extra street cred at work when playing fantasy football, participating in March Madness brackets, as well as when I'm out at parties or some social engagement where I'm metting someone new. I know a little about a lot of things. My jackie-of-all-trades, master-of-none seems to engage the guys more than the gals.

I dislike talking about chickie things like Coach bags (and I'm getting the matching wallet for my birthday!), Manolo Blahnik shoes (love Carrie Bradshaw, but no *that* much), Prada and all that shopping stuff. I don't know the first thing about Clinique or any high-end face applications (Cover Girl and Oil of Olay suit me fine). Forget trading recipies with me, even though I cook well. I'm not a high maintenance woman, although I do enjoy pedicures while sipping wine, massages and a weekend away having lots and lots of lovin'. I feel very special and womanly when I am dressed up for a formal dance or some special occasion that requires the wearing of the color red.

Emotions. I have them. I have them sometimes in extremes. The extremes make me very uncomfortable. Apparently, they make a lot of people very uncomfortable. Why? Because I'm a rationalizer. Information is peace to me. I am also a fixer, which is typically the guy-role. The more I know and understand about my behaviors and soul, the calmer I feel and the more even-keeled I am. The better I serve my fellow human and help them feel better about themselves, feel that serenity I feel inside myself. But, there are times when I'm out of touch with myself. Still, other times I know full well what's going on inside of me and I *refuse* to acknowledge them. I want to bury my head in the sand, or get on the yacht and go sailing alone -- just me and the sea. Today is a day that I wish is was me and the sea. Today is a day where I wish I could just be myself unabashedly, have that certain someone look at me, process some cues and just hug me. Love me. Pull me into some loving arms and sway me back and forth and allow me to break down. Completely. Kiss my head and play with my hair. No words. Just unspoken, reciprocated understanding. Let me be female. Offer me that soft place to lay and be Jackie.

I'm struggling today because I'm having an ultra-female day (PMS?), and I don't mean in the "I need a new Coach purse because shopping makes me a princess" kind of way. I want to isolate. It's times like this when I detest being a woman. It's times like this that I *do* isolate because it's safer for everyone involved. :) People don't know how to handle Jackie When She's Emotional. The seem to prefer the me who is accepting, unconditional, compassionate. There are few people in my life who've ever experienced the All of Me. And there are even fewer who I trust these days with even a sliver of the All of Me. When I have days like this, I feel misunderstood and people think they need to run away from me; or they push buttons back at me because they feel my off-day is me being antagonistic. They think I'm 'miffed' or 'pressuring' or 'sending out a bad vibe' or 'irrational' or 'on my period' . It's these days especially that I wish someone could keep me in context and accept me the way I accept them. No confrontation, no insecurity about my intentions. Just let me be me. The weak and broken me. The vulnerable me that NEEDS. The little girl that WANTS. Even if it does seem extreme.

LET. ME. BE. ME.

It's times like this I wish I was a guy.

Today is a day that I wish is was me and the sea.....

A Naughty

I love this song!



Buck Cherry's "Crazy Bitch"



All right!



Break me down, you got a lovely face

We're going to your place

And now you got to freak me out

Scream so loud, getting fuckin' laid

You want me to stay, but I got to make my way



Hey

You're crazy bitch

But you fuck so good, I'm on top of it

When I dream, I'm doing you all night

Scratches all down my back to keep me right on

Hey

You're crazy bitch

But you fuck so good, I'm on top of it

When I dream, I'm doing you all night

Scratches all down my back to keep me right on

Take it off, the paper is your game

You jump in bed with fame

Another one night paid in full, uh

You're so fine, it won't be a loss

Cashing in the rocks, just to get you face to face



Hey

You're crazy bitch

But you fuck so good, I'm on top of it

When I dream, I'm doing you all night

Scratches all down my back to keep me right on

Hey

You're crazy bitch

But you fuck so good, I'm on top of it

When I dream, I'm doing you all night

Scratches all down my back to keep me right on

Get the videofuck you so good

Get the videofuck you so good



Crazy bitch

Crazy bitch

Crazy...bitch



Hey

You're crazy bitch

But you fuck so good, I'm on top of it

When I dream, I'm doing you all night

Scratches all down my back to keep me right on

Hey

You're crazy bitch

But you fuck so good, I'm on top of it

When I dream, I'm doing you all night

Scratches all down my back, come on



Baby girl

You want it all

To be a star

You'll have to go down

Take it off

No need to talk



You're crazy

But I like the way you fuck me

HeyYou're crazy bitch

But you fuck so good, I'm on top of it

When I dream, I'm doing you all night

Scratches all down my back to keep me right on

Hey

You're crazy bitch

But you fuck so good, I'm on top of it

When I dream, I'm doing you all night

Scratches all down my back to keep me right on

You keep me right onYou're crazy

But I like the way you fuck me