Stroller Derby on Judgement Day

I know, I know. I've been lame and absent, but I'm back with a real humdinger.

From time to time I like to take stock of myself. My strengths (limitless!) and my weaknesses (limitless!) and see how things are shaping up.

One particular sour note stood out: Judginess. I'm as open minded as they come and I've made more mistakes than most, but if I see some overly plumped up lips and some huge knockers on the arm of an octogenarian, I'm going to have some thoughts. Not very cool and not very nice of me. If I see a dude behind the wheel of a truck with tires the size of Miami, I'm going to take some mean guesses about what's going on down south of his bible belt. Again, pretty judgey. Pretty mean. So I thought I'd get to work on this front.

As luck would have it, around about the same time, what I thought was an impossibility happened. I didn't see it coming and the only thing I could think to do was embrace it. I bought a dog stroller.

You may say, that's so unlike you. I may say, not anymore. You may say, isn't that something only creeps do? I may say, count me among their ranks. You may say, but Ed's a big dog. Like 70 pounds. How does he fit in the stroller? I may say, it's a super huge one. And it's baby blue.

So, there you go. And what's more, I absolutely love it. I love strolling around with Ed. We have a fine old time.  You see, he's thirteen now. And with three legs and cancer, he was having a tough time getting out in the world. Enter the stroller. Now, Ed can feel the sun on his face and the wind in his soft patchy hair and he's happier than he's been in months. Also, it's given me the chance to do some work on the judgier side of me.

You see, prior to my purchase, I would gaze upon the dog stroller folks of the world with a roll of my eyes and a smidge of disdain. But now, I get it. If I spot another pooch stroller out, we wave happily to each other from across the park. We compare models and wheel widths. They've even offered up good advice about how to prop Ed up more comfortably due to his missing limb. Sure, they may use a shrill baby voice when talking to their dogs, and yes, that makes me cringe a little, but they love Ed and they love their dogs and who really gives a shit.

So a week or so ago Ed and I were strolling around, minding our own beeswax, when a woman wearing a snarky look and a sensible pantsuit decided to share some thoughts with me. (Unsolicited? Yes. Spoken in a douchey voice? Of course!) She said, Don't dogs need to walk? For exercise? I could be wrong but I don't think you're helping him much.

Well, well, well, what did we have here? A woman who knows nothing about me or Ed giving ultra judgey advice? Yes, that's precisely what we had. And we also had a brilliant opportunity for me to exercise my new non-judgey ways. Take them out for a stroll if you feel me. Also, pre-stroller, I would have thought pretty much the exact same thing she did. You'd think I might have some sympathy for her. Not so it turns out. I swung into action and said the following, As a matter of fact you are wrong. He's got three legs and incurable cancer so shut the fuck up.

A work in progress is how I like to frame it.

I've got my work cut out for me when it comes to judginess. And patience. And hardcore swearing.

But over the years Ed has taught me a lot of lessons, one of them being, yes, you can teach an old dog new tricks, so I'll just keep working on it.

Farewell, Sweet Irene

(Irene's on the left and my Grammy's on the right.)

My great-aunt Irene passed away last week at the ripe age of 100. She was hilarious, curious, beautiful, courageous, and an absolute straight-shooter, right up to the end.

At times, she was a little shaky on the idea of heaven, and if there was a heaven, would she make it in.

I can tell you this, if there is one, the doors were flung open wide for her welcome home party.
And James Garner was mixing the drinks.

So, here's to you, Irene. You are missed more than you can imagine.

JT

I have been thinking so much about my friend JT lately that I thought it was high time to share him with you.

I first met him in my friend Holly's kitchen. He was sitting on a stool wearing cut off jean shorts, a red white and blue terry cloth headband, and roller skates. I knew then and there that I would love him.

JT was born to entertain. He could take the mundane and make it extraordinary. He unapologetically dressed loud and lived louder. This may sound as though he was abrasive or a little too much, but he was precisely the opposite. He drew you in with his warmth. He was one of the kindest people I've ever known despite (or because of) the fact that the world had not been quite so kind to him.

He was born and raised in a small town in the midwest where he was taught to conform. That's like telling a lion to squeak. And being gay was out of the question. The unspoken rule that was enforced was silence. His sexuality was never to be spoken of or he would be cut loose.

As soon as he could, he hoofed it to LA with stars in his eyes and roller skates on his feet. He sang on cruise ships and choreographed shows and wrote and starred in musicals that he staged in cramped little theaters. Although I may be slightly biased, his shows were magnificent. Just thrilling.

And he could make me laugh like no one else. He could take a so-so story and weave it into a brilliant adventure. He could take what could have been an ordinary evening and make it an event to remember.

And the guy had a voice. When he sang it seemed as if the whole world stopped. You may have heard the song a million times, yet when he sang it, it was brand new. He was spellbinding.

And he was good at keeping secrets. Especially his own. But none of us knew it at the time. Maybe he perfected this skill while hiding himself away as a boy. Looking back it seems so clear that he was sick, but his exuberance and wit kept us all in the dark.

In April of that year, he danced with me at my wedding. He was wearing a vibrantly colored suit and held me close.

Just a few weeks later he died. It seemed impossible. I mean that sentence more than I can express. Impossible. JT had curled up cosily in bed and slipped away from us all. It still seems so hard to believe.

We had a funeral/party and tried to capture the essence of who he was. We tried to make it something he would have loved. And we came close. The only thing missing was him. To this day, when I find myself laughing so hard I cry, or dancing late into the night, I think of JT and realize those moments would be a whole lot more fun if he was right next to me.

JT made life an absolute celebration. And, in honor of his bright light, I'm trying my best to do the same.

Baby Talk and Ice Dancing

Remember that time I said I would be writing a lot more? Adding more posts? Being more diligent? I think we all learned a valuable lesson and it is this...I can be, at certain times, very lame.

So, here we are in May and I'm very pleased to be back with you. And now I'd like to share a quick anecdote about wedding dresses. More than an anecdote, this is a hard lesson with some ugly facts. Buckle up.

I, unlike many brides, didn't have big fancy dreams. I just wanted to get married to my dude and have some margaritas about it. I like parties more than weddings and that was the vibe we were going for. But the trick is, I wanted to wear a pretty dress. Maybe even white. So I hired a dressmaker to do just that. She was going to make me a 50's style, tea length dress. Simple, classic, affordable. Our first contact was by phone and frankly that should have served as warning enough. Her voice sounded like she was talking to me at the end of a long hallway with her phone at the opposite end. I don't think I've ever had to come up with so many different ways to say, "What?!"

So we scheduled an appointment for her to swing on by. She showed up on my porch all willowy and soft talking with a lot of pins and tape measures. I ushered her in and right away it was clear she didn't like me all that much. And that's weird. When right away someone doesn't like you but they're in your house and you kind of need them to stay there but you really would love it if they left. Just a weirdo situation.

She also had the voice of a child. A soft speaking child. I'm not a fan of women who speak like children. I want to punch them in the throat. So as she measured and baby talked and disliked me, I took it upon myself to try and turn this frown of a situation upside down. I would make her love me. Not just like me, but love me. I joked and joshed and asked her questions. I complimented her willow-iness and talent for measuring. Nothing. Just nothing at all. I was like a friendly hummingbird zipping around her gloomy ass. Not a thing changed.

After about 45 minutes, I more or less gave up. I was exhausted. But, I was very much looking forward to my dress. She said she'd call in a couple of days and give me an update.

Two weeks later, I still hadn't heard from her. Not that I hadn't tried. I called and called, but apparently her shop was closed for biz. And I had already paid her. But truthfully, I couldn't really believe, no matter how distasteful she found me, that she would cash my check and skip town. First off she couldn't get far, even by bus, I mean the dress was only about 700 bucks, so I put the whole thing on the back burner of my worry stove.

However, 2 days before the wedding (I repeat, 2 days!) I still had no dress and no word from the willowy child talker. I may be an easy going bride, but I do need a dress, America! I called her for what I thought would be the final time and she picked up the phone. Success! She was still long hallway talker and things had not moved much in her opinion of me, but she going to bring by the finished dress that very day. Sweet mercy!

And the moment she arrived I could tell the dress would suck. She was holding a see through garment bag and inside the was what appeared to be an ice dancing dress. Whiter than white, shiny cheap fabric, and a weird band of robins egg blue around the middle. And it looked to be about 5 sizes too big. Fantastic.

To her credit, she was embarrassed. She unzipped the bag and I could tell it was much worse than I thought. She asked if I wanted to try it on. I said no. We both knew this was more a Halloween costume than a wedding dress and there was nothing to do. And the thing that happens to me in these kinds of situations is that I begin to think everything is going to work out just fine. That somehow the dress will look beautiful. That maybe I'm wrong. It's like I can't face facts so I tie them up with a bow to make them look pretty. Even that god awful dress was somehow prettier. So, the seamstress awkwardly left my house with her head down and a baby talked, "congrats."

I then went into my bedroom and tried on the dress. I stood in front of a full length mirror and was left with no choice except to laugh. The dress matched her voice. It was a wedding dress made for a child. An Alice in Wonderland wedding dress. It was creepy and ugly and still had pins in it. Boo.

So what's the first move you make after this kind of an emergency? You call your best friend. I grabbed the ugliest dress on earth and raced over to my best friend's house and tried it on. She agreed. This was the ugliest dress on earth. And what's your first move when you're getting married in less than 48 hours and you don't have a wedding dress? You and your best friend go to Loehmann's where you buy 2 dresses for under 200 bucks and call it a day.

So this is how I see it - don't trust baby talkers and Loehmann's rules!

Talk to you all very soon. I promise.

Happy (super late) Holidays!

Well, here we are! We've finally landed triumphantly in 2014.

I, for one, could not be more thrilled. 2013 had heaps of good, but it ultimately kicked my ass.

I wave it a fond farewell and I send to you, my sweet turtledoves, a very tardy yuletide greeting, undying love and a promise to write more frequently and (fingers crossed!) better.

Now, let's raise a glass, despite the hour, to all of us having the time of our lives this brand spanking new year!

And, may I add, that I find all of you very, very attractive.