Monday, March 30, 2009

Gooder than...

Here's something you don't hear everyday when you just ask a stranger how they are doing:
"Better than snuff and gooder than taters." OR "Better than snuff and a third less dusty."

Not to be judgmental or anything but I'm not sure the speaker would even know what a third of anything is much less taking a mental measure of their snuff dust and calculating a fraction of it.
And what is snuff dust? I guess I don't know what snuff even is so I'll wikipedia it in a minute. I just know that stuffy, entitled ladies take a little and try to be all sly about getting a buzz like they are somehow immune to the temptation of a short lived high. At least they do on Andy Griffith.

But it must be just ok if there is a phrase that has a snuff user as a reference point for feeling good. Society has gravitated from any discretion and instead choose a more balls out high, you know, like meth. "My teeth fell outta my head but dang I feel great!"

I only meet the occasional pot head now but that's about the simplest drug form I can think of that is classified as a "drug". Sure kids drink cough syrup or huff on glue ( shoot, I'll take a wiff of a Sharpie when it opens) but real drugs seem to have an exposure hierarchy with pot at the bottom tier. Unless, I've been out of the loop for a while a kids go straight for hard dope.

My BFF and I were talking today about some of the things we lived through during our almost 20 years as constants and the drug topic has us the most amazed. We hung out with some pretty seedy (i don't even know another word for some of them) but good hearted folks, back in the day, and participated in many a premeditated nogoodness but when hard drugs came into the group, looking back, I am kinda proud of us. We would just look around, find each other's face and know to leave - automatic, no regrets about being uncool. I always had the thought that I had too much to lose, even if I didn't know what it was yet. I don't remember exactly what she was thinking but it must have been similar. We just left and found some other haunt to occupy where the company was as divey as we were ;D The song " Friends in Low Places" is coming to mind. There are many a good folk and comraderie in low places. And you don't really have to have low standards, well, ok, yeah ya do. You just know not to wear your best shoes and hover when you use the ladies (nevermind that mustache) room.
Even now I can feel a bit uncomfortable in posh atmospheres if I'm not in the right mood - gimme a beer, a bowl of stale chips and a wood floor and I'm fine...

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Anti Spring Chickens UNITE!

Now that I have all the time in the world I have no excuse not to blog; other than sitting makes my back hurt and I kind of cringe at the thought of having to sit here in my substandard chairs to write. Really I have very few complaints about being pregnant but the few are big and obnoxious and make a difference to my standard of comfort.

Creating a human is not for wussies just like raising said human is not for the faint of heart. Here towards the end I have made a homemade body oil to help with dry skin, the main oil being olive oil. I grease my belly up and smell like a gourmet tapenade. I bet if I walked downtown all the Italians would turn and look seductively my way (like we have so many in Nashville!). Now that I think of it, I wish we had sections of town like Chinatown or Little Italy – I miss that about Florida and loved it about NYC. I could buy all the fake bags and amazing risotto I wanted! Stereotypes exist for a reason, right?
I’ve totally digressed from the topic here… I’ll risk smelling bad or being an Italian Pied Piper to not get stretch marks. Not a problem!

Hmmmm, what else? Oh yeah, getting tangled in blankets when I sleep. Poor Gary wakes up with a cold butt pretty often because I’ve gotten my legs all discombobulated and I can’t escape! I have to elevate my top half cuz I’m breathing heartburn fire, try to stay on my left side AND roll over countless times a night. Puleez. Just get your own covers cuz I’m trapped in a cotton octopus over here.

I’m pretty excited now though – we have maybe 7 weeks left. We have the necessities and are physically ready for this little thing to appear. My doctor is hoping he/she will be ready sooner and is limiting my activities so you may notice a pychosis creep into my blogs as my brain gets bored and atrophies. Gary grows ‘em big and apparently my frame is small. I don’t ever feel small but she’s said it over and over…whatever. But some days I don’t feel so good and can be a bit anemic. I actually have to remember that I’m 36 now and like Aunt Bee said “No spring chicken anymore”.

My BFF and I have decided to be the Anti Spring Chickens. She will always be a cougar though which makes me realize the danger of my situation!