Objects in Mirror are Closer Than They Appear...

Haven't been here in a while.... this is my horoscope...

As fiery as you are -- and that's pretty darned hot -- when you say you're ready to get the show on the road as far as a work project goes, there's absolutely no doubt that it's all going to come together, and quickly, too. You're set to pull off something like that now, and there'll be no stopping you, either -- just as long as you manage your time carefully and don't waste a single moment. You can do it. You just need to believe you can do it.

And I'm going to start up a restaurant, taco truck, something....So I have to get the plan under way.... Here is a poem I wrote... I want to add, that the temporary dementia of certain kitchens when there is no air, or sound, or anything but the concentration of the task at hand....is when I'm happiest!

I wish I was still a cook


Screw the 10 dollars more an hour I make now....I would rather hear the dishwasher & silverware, breaking plates & sizzling food.

I wish my nails were gunked & all my rings. I wish I was sweating like a bastard, instead of wearing a sweater in the air conditioned office.

I wish I could feel my face burning off & I had ass rash again. Nothing a little baby powder wouldn't take care of.

I wish I had all the culinary tinctures at my grasp again.... all the bastards in the kitchen to talk shit with ...... about the waitresses!

I long for my clothes to smell like nothing else smells, unless you've basked in the grease & smoke all night long. Not being able to get it off my hands no matter what, because I can't help but grab my garlic with bare hands.

Grease stains on my pants, because I wipe my hands on my apron all night long & it soaks through.

I love the little pinche cook feeling in my heart...the one where I know that I'm worth so much more than they give me, I do it because I've got a massive work ethic & all I care about is the food. I love not having insurance, and toughing out all my injuries with toughness.

The kitchen after hours.... beers & tucker for those left to clean up all the mess. Maybe some grappa from across the street.... the camaraderie with others of the checkered pants persuasion...riding their bikes to one restaurant or another.

The adrenaline of a busy night, focus, memory, perfection. It's a dance....a dance that few people know.... the kitchen ballet. I miss it & I want it back.

Your Mommy's Alright, You're Daddy's Alright.....

They just seem a little wierd...surrender... surrender, but don't give yourself away..ay...ay....

To say the least, they're a little wierd.

I want to talk about synchronicity & magic, but I don't know if I'll get that far.

SO, the day you decide to get your nails done for the first time in your life... your real father decides to come (after how many countless years, I don't know) & visit. He ends up visiting the husband & baby before I even get home. Hmmmph!

It was alright. They were ok. I wanted to hurry home as fast as I could, but after the nail affair, I had to take the sister in law home... the whole time trying to race home & save my Sonny, from who knows what.... boredom? molestation? No!?
I'm just kidding, though it's a bad joke.

As soon as I get to my street. I slow down immediately & don't really feel like going there anymore. It's funny how cliche things come about in the most emotional of circumstances. The thought rushed through my mind, to just go shopping, or something other than home. Hell, if you can't do what you want, than what is life about right? Sonny would understand if I never showed. Well, needless to say, I went anyhow. And it wasn't as bad as I thought. Something in me was sorta embarrassed to even see what he looked like. Scared for him to see me.

Yeah, it was fine, we hung at the house for a few & he decided to take us out to dinner. We went to a restaurant called "Bernardo's" - Sonny used to work there & was craving their turkey burger.... Might as well have the old man sport it eh?
What a nerd my Dad is, while ordering food.... he reminded me of one of those guys on Saturday night live that did the hump dance... I swear in his own 70's way he was trying to be cool & hit on the waitress. I felt this squeal in my ears the whole time, uber aware of my father and all his movements & words. I still have yet to ask Sonny if he noticed any similarities between us...or if he understood me a little more from having to sit through an hour's worth of my fathers talking.

What meant the most to me that night, was Sonny. He didn't take one step into the bar, and he ordered an iced tea. (For those of you that read below...a few stories down...Sonny promised to TRY & stop drinking on the fourth.)(If you read any of this at all...thanks!) So, it melted my heart that he meant it, and he was trying. It will be seven days tomorrow. I'm flabbergasted, actually, and so too is he.

Anyhow.... yeah, so, we had food & he walked us out & we left from the restaurant. Now for synchronicity. This was my horoscope on this day...

Your sign is in charge of far off places,
people and cultures, and when you're not on the road, your only
consolation is to be in touch with someone or something that reminds
you of a distant place you love. So when it comes to long-distance
communications, whether they come about by email, phone or surprise
visits, you can bet they're very much on your top ten list of most
favorite things. That said, think you might be ready for a little bit
of all three? .......

That was spot on & on the way home from dinner, they played the cheap trick song on the radio.... Surrender. This is when I know there's magic out there. And also, it's strange to me that after I write about Sonny and his pop, mine all of a sudden blasts into town. So, hat's off to the fates!

S.

Fireworks

Although they are romantic. They are also sad. They happen every year. Reliable, yet achingly emotional. It makes you want a kiss. It makes you want to tromp around in a creek. It makes you remember all the years past & what you were doing. The fourth of July compells me to indulge my Huck Finn. Who is very romantic mind you.

I am not saying romantic in the gushy mushy sense. I am saying romantic in the Tom Sawyer sense. Things that take you back to when you were a child. The smallest most favorite thing that you can remember. It's not our country. It's our lives. Yes, the country allows for us to be any way we'd like. But even without the USA, you'd still have that person that makes your heart twinge even 10 yrs later when you think about them. You'd still have hot dogs & ...... hot dogs & fire works & lawn chairs & grass & BEER & watermelon & christmas lights & pistachios & swamp coolers & sprinklers & dogs loose & good music on the radio & people enjoying themselves in your back yard. Well, maybe not. I don't know. But this post isn't about America, god bless it.

It's about fireworks & all the small little types of romance there are. My foot in the grass & my pants rolled up & the caked dirt on my feet chokes me up.

Never went to the rodeo & Eternal catch 22.

Last year, I stood there eating a corn dog while my husband rode the rides.

I've always wanted to ride a mechanical bull. I love cowboys. I love anything that's very true to american "boy".

When I watch my love's hands at work on anything, it turns me on. Boy hands. Gosh.
I've always loved that. Opposite of idle hands, the movement & the concentration turn me on. God damn.

My husband has no parents. He has his Sister & her husband. The problem with drinking roots from his father. I can imagine the evening.....anger & frustration rampant....Papa wants to go out & his dad tells him "NO!". He was fed up. He looked his father in the eye and told him to leave them alone, to get out & never come back....that he was never around anyway. He became a man that night. His father never came back. Papa took the force of truth & power & scared his father away. This has instilled a great guilt in my husband, who believes he also took away a husband & father to his sister that night.... Who claims that the only thing his dad ever gave him was a drinking problem.

I can't imagine having Sophia & not having a parent to call, or share her with. That right there is heartbreak enough. For your life to change so drastically & not have a rock. Thank God for his sis, or he would be this lonestar to the wind for real. Though I know he has felt this very way before.

He says that right after, he went out and became a co-dependent junkie. After doing this for years on end, he finally kicked the habit & switched to drinking. Drinking so much I can hardly imagine how he ever even got a chick. From what I can tell, the amount was enough to make a man fall asleep standing & drool profusely. Now, it's not as bad...for his standards. He really keeps to alcohol only on the weekends. Beer throughout the week. And not even that much alcohol on said weekends.... enough though, so that it's noticeable to me, when we're out at a function & I have to deal soberly when he's not. The shit is taking a toll, and I feel as though he's starting to come apart physically from it. I asked him to try. Try to stop. He agreed.

I hear voices in my head. The voices mess with me so bad. I know you're not supposed to care what anyone else thinks. And inside my body, in my innermost, I rebel so hard against myself. One part says, "what they think....yada yada...." and gets me all anxious.....there's this slice of my brain that DOES care. Care's so profusely that it borders on paranoia. The other side of my brain notes that we only have ourselves. The other side of me see's that it's just us. No matter who claims to be a part of this family. WE are this family. The three ... excuse me.... 6 of us.... including the animals.

I just want to give them what they give me. Shit. Nothing but shit. But I never would want to make a person feel that way. It's my eternal catch 22.

My Mother.

She knows how to stick a fucking stake in my heart. She knows that I care that everyone get's along without a problem & I want those around me to be happy almost to a fault. No matter what I do. I am suffering from something that didn't make her happy about my life. Sometimes I call my Mom a whore. I don't even care that I do.
Ouch.

I'm glad I got that out of my fingers. Because everytime I say to myself, I won't ever let her in again, so that she can lash out on me. I do. Plain and simple. I open up like the fucking bridge that opens up for the ship on the river.

I find that lately I'm not so fond of the people around me. I'm frustrated by it. More than that, I am exasperated by it. And I feel alone. I feel like we took this trajectory course into some unknown land. And we did. But, everyone around changed. Or was it us? It's hard to tell sometimes. But for the most part I just can't shake that others seem so fake & cold & not what I expected them to be. Especially those I've known for quite some time. Maybe that's the frustrating part about it. The evolution is not in a favorable space.

FUCK.