I crawled into bed and the sheets felt cool and they were familiar. The warmth of MyHusbands body was close to me and it felt good to press myself against him. I was tired but my mind turned to other thoughts. He was more tired and almost asleep and I thought for a minute about waking him up but I knew I’d probably end up with hurt feelings. He was very tired. It had been a very long drive.

I lay there on my side with my back to MyHusband and I let my mind wander. My breath became a little faster as I imagined his hand on my shoulder and it moving slowly down my side sliding into the soft spot at my waist and moving back up to my hip. His hands squeezing and pulling me against him. I imagined his breath against the back of my neck and him kissing me over and over until I moaned and turned my head to face him. Our bodies pressed against each other and my mouth finding his shoulder and neck. His hands brushing my hair from my face and gathering it gently, slowly, deliberately, into a bunch at the nape of my neck. Him pulling my head back so he could kiss my neck, under my chin, my breasts and stomach. Over and over until my back arched and my feet pressed hard against the bed and I pull him roughly onto me.

He fills my ears with inappropriate words that are somehow quite appropriate and I move my hands from his shoulder, down his arms, and underneath his hands. Our fingertips touch and I lightly trace his fingers and palm, feeling the roughness of the callouses. He closes his fingers around my hands and they are lost inside of his. His big calloused manly hands. He pull my hands to his lips and kisses each of my fingers and I place his hand on my mouth and kiss his palms as his fingers trace my cheek. I make sure he looking into my eyes and I grin at him. I press my hands against him and push, pretending I wanted him to go away. He grabs them and pins them over my head as I giggle.

I imagine how my breasts bounce and the sound of the bed as it makes that rhythmic sound that anyone who knows would know. Him grabbing my waist and slipping his hands under me. Pulling me hard against him. Demanding and rough making my body do things that we both know it’s wants to do.

Then through my half closed eyes I saw a bright flash outside. It startled me back into myself. Then a few seconds later a loud explosive sound followed by loud rumbly sounds. Then silence. For a second I though the world had come to an end. Then another flash. And the thunder. Then I counted and listened and waited for the storm to pass. A thunder storm in March. I rolled over and snuggled against MyHusband. He thought my heart was racing and my breathing was heavy because I was frightened by the sudden storm. I didn’t have to worry, he would keep me safe. Sometimes, men are so gullible.

Sit in church and bow your head, shake hands firmly and criticize whoever was out of favor at the moment. Next week we might praise the same name but not this week. Pretend. Pretend. Pretend. We are one big happy family. And so it goes. Around and around. Year after year.

He hurt you because you hurt her and you sat on the porch and cried. I watched from a distance. I watched it all from a distance. The world crumbled and was rebuilt. Over and over and over. And we would pretend the cracks were not there. But I saw them and I remembered them and I enjoyed the looks of fear when I’d hint at deeds you all thought were long forgotten. Yes, I remember. No I won’t tell. I just want you all to know I could. I saw you all fall from grace. I saw you all pretend you hadn’t. I took notes.

People told me secrets. I stored them in my heart and filed them in memory. Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in those memories. Other times I feel like they leaven me and help me fly. Because I did fly. Away from there. Away from the chaos and craziness. Away from the facade. Just like you knew I would. I was never one of you but sometimes I am like you. I have to remember so I can forget. I forget so I can go on. I’m doing alright. Yes, I’m doing alright. Thanks for asking. Now go away.

Only this time the cat pulled the table cloth off the table. Kinda like a magician’s trick except everything came off with the cloth instead of staying put. Also the aquatic frogs got bumped and now they are mad too. Thankfully, they are underwater so I can’t hear them bitching. It took 15 minutes this time to restore order but I managed. And yes, it did happen again. I don’t want to talk about it.

Instead I am going to take advantage of the finally clear roads in my neighborhood and drive to the craft store. This is part of my “organize your life plan” that I just now decided to make up. There is decoupaging involved in this plan. I feel like decoupaging some old shoe boxes and using them for storage. Maybe for a cat, I’m not sure. In case you were wondering, I’ve never been much of a decoupager but desperate times calls for drastic measures. Bring on the paste.

I sometimes wonder what my future son-in-laws will be like. Will the types of people they choose to hang out with now predict their future friends, lovers, and spouses? Will my oldest settle down with intelligent man with a gentle heart and curious mind? Will my youngest be traveling the globe with a grinning bad boy who has a heart of gold? I’m not sure it matters but I like to think about these things sometimes.

My first boyfriend was a bad boy. Leather jacket, wild hair, fist ready to fly at the slightest provocation, bad boy. But he, and just about every boyfriend after him, treated me like I was the most wonderful thing that ever walked the earth. I never thought I deserved their adoration but that didn’t stop them from giving it to me. If I hadn’t had so much fun with them I might feel bad about all the worry and grief I caused my parents with my choices in boyfriends. I’ll never forget the look on my Dad’s face the day one of them called me from the juvenile detention center!

When it was all said and done, I ended up marrying a smart guy with a bad boy grin. He has a gentle loving heart and a great sense of adventure. When I think about it, he’s just like the boys I used to play with on the playground. I guess my girls will find the person that’s right for them. I don’t have any worries that they’ll find the right person and live a happy life together. I just worry about the steps they’ll take before they get there. I have a slight anxious feeling when I realize the time for finding out if I predicted correctly is just a few short years away. And if the bad boys showing off on their skateboards for my oldest are any indication, the next few years are going to be quite interesting.

Hope you are doing well. I had a small problem with a bunion, but it’s getting better now. I won’t bore you with the details even though you are a good person to ask. Today I am going to tell you about singing.

Singing is a good thing. Most people feel better when they express themselves with a song. I like to sing in the shower. It sounds good in there. I can’t fault anyone for singing when they are feeling like singing. I think it’s probably healthy. What I can fault you for is singing when you know durn well you can’t sing worth a damn. Well, I won’t even fault you for that unless you are doing it where other people can hear you.

I want you to know that no one in their right mind wants to hear you howling out Silent Night at the top of your lungs if you sound like a dog in heat. It’s what they call noise pollution and that is a serious problem in this world. I am asking you people to please stop doing it and make the world a better place.

I understand that some people don’t know they sing badly. Here are a few tips so that you can figure it out:

If dogs start howling when you sing you need to stop. Dog howl for reason and one of them is when they hear bad singing.

If you are singing and parents grab their kids and start moving slowly away from you, you’re a bad singer. They don’t want you infecting their kids with bad taste. I can’t say I blame them.

If everyone in the congregation except for Milly, the mostly deaf girl, puts their hymn books in front of their face and starts shaking when you sing, it isn’t because they were moved by the spirit. They are trying not to laugh in church. That’s bad manners.

When no one makes eye contact while you are singing, you are bad. Just face the facts. No one wants to look at something like that.

If I run out of my house and give you a cup of cocoa before you’ve finished your carol, it isn’t because I didn’t want you to get cold. Even though I told you that, it was really because I couldn’t take anymore of your singing. Jesus Pete, get the hint already!

So, now you know. If any of these things apply to you, please stop polluting the world with noise and try to enjoy the season. I hope that was helpful to you. I wouldn’t be anything if I wasn’t helpful. Have a great day and don’t forget to help with the fight against noise pollution. It gets really bad this time of year with all the drinking. We all need to do our part. I’ll be back next week to tell you about gluttony. That is when you eat too much.

Sincerely,
Miss Brandie

I came to the train tracks, then a tunnel entrance covered with years worth of weeds. Honey suckle, poison ivy, and morning glories. Many years ago we decided it might be a metaphor for life. God, we were trashed that day! The vines were dormant and leafless for the winter but I knew they would be back in a few months and I knew I wouldn’t have the courage to cross them when they blossomed. I stood there until I felt I would loose my nerve, then I made myself continue on.

I pushed through brush, ducked under branches and crawled over fallen trees. My walk was coming to an end and each step was just a little slower than the last. Just past the sharp turn. I just had to make it past there.

I closed my eyes and stepped into the clearing. When I opened them it was like I remembered – but different. It wasn’t quite the same. I scanned the large gaping holes where men had gouged the gravel and sand from the earth. When they had taken everything they wanted they left it unattended, ugly and broken, alone to fend for itself. We loved that ugly place. We loved it because it was ours. No one else ever went there.

All these years later and the wounds were starting to heal. Grass and trees have grown. Sharp edges were softer. The water a little less stagnant. The light was filtered by the trees and the harshness was giving way to a aged softness. I wondered for a minute if it was a metaphor for life and I wasn’t even trashed.

No one but you and me would know why I went there. Most days I think we are the only ones that would even understand. Maybe the only people that would even care. I stayed for a long time but the time I spent didn’t make up for the time I had been away. When it was time for me to go I left behind my tears, markings from a paint stick, and a mostly full bottle of strawberry wine.

The walk back was shorter than I’d though it would be.

I stopped a few videos at the smile. You know the one. The wild eyed, excited, I never did that before and I am so proud of myself now smile. It’s the perfect picture. There is nothing else on this earth that even comes close to filling me with more joy. That smile makes everything worthwhile.

Last night at the basketball game Oldest got a rebound and made an awesome basket. The most awesome basket of her short basketball career. I clapped and cheered and waited for the smile. I watches as she turned her head, not to look and make sure I was watching, but to see the cheers of her coach and teammates. Then she ran back down the court and continued to play. She never even looked my way.

I suppose that’s okay. She’s growing up and doesn’t need Mommy to validate her accomplishments. There’s a whole world of people out there that will support her and cheer for her, and that is a good thing. But damn it, I wanted that smile. That smile was there because of all the previous smiles I had helped her achieve. From her first steps, to the first game of catch, to helping her find just the right pair of court shoes. That smile was mine and I felt cheated even though I tried not to feel that way. I did my best to hide it.

After the game was done I walked over to give her shoes and sweatpants. I smiled extra big when I told her that she had played a good game. She told me with all the confidence (arrogance) of a 12yo that it was in fact an excellent game. She talked excitedly about some of the key plays of the game. She mentioned her awesome shot and I gave her a big hug. She smiled really big when I told her she was getting good and looking a lot more confident on the court. Then we went home.

After she got a quick shower, I went to tell her goodnight. She had come down from her post game high and was all sleepy eyed and ready to dream. I kissed her on the forehead and when I was walking out she asked me, “Did you see that basket, Mom? Did you see how I did that?”

I nodded an told her of course I did. She giggled and told me of course I had. She said it like it was completely and totally expected that I was rooting for her. There was no doubt in her mind. Then she rolled over and went to sleep and I went back out to watch some more old movies.

I smiled at the baby smiles on the screen and found contentment in knowing that they know I’m always rooting for them, even when they are too busy living their own lives to acknowledge it. I hope they live the rest of their lives knowing I’m their biggest fan even when they’re sprawled out at half court because they just tripped over their own feet. But I also hope I get more of those smiles, just for me. I’m selfish like that and that is just the way it is.

Hello. It’s nice to see you back. I’m sure you noticed the purple in my hair has faded a bit. Mike, the hair stylist, says no need to worry. I used the temporary hair color and it will wash out in a few days. BINGO turned out fine. Apparently quite a few people decided to try the hair color by the cabbage and we had a good laugh about it. I even made a new purple-haired friend. It’s good to have something in common. That helps promote a friendship. Too bad it had to be a hair color tragedy. But never mind that. Today I am going to tell you about lying.

Lying is bad. We all know you shouldn’t lie to your Mom. Someone needs to tell that to my no good son, the one that lies to his mother. I mean, if you can’t just tell your mom your going to be too busy with that new tart of yours to spend some time with your family on Christmas, what good are you? Making up lies about being busy and needing to make money to pay your child support is stupid. Everyone knows you got plenty of money for your child support. It’s all those alimony payments each month that are killing you.

For awhile, I thought that boy was turning Mormon. Every time I turned around he was getting married. They call that serial monogamy. What it really should be called is he don’t how to keep a woman. He thinks I don’t know that he is going skiing at one of those resorts. Well, I know. I hope he doesn’t break a leg.

So, lying is bad. Just don’t do it. When you lie too much everyone thinks you are morally corrupted. And they would be right. I’m not talking about lying about Martha’s bean salad being good. Everyone knows you’re just being nice about that. Just try not to tell any big lies. Don’t lie to your wife about where you’re going because she will find out. Don’t lie to your kids about what happened to the dog. That’s just wrong. Also, don’t lie to yourself. You know what is right and wrong. Trust the voice inside and be honest with yourself. Things usually work out better that way. That’s a simple fact.

I know that sometimes you have to lie. It’s just how it is. You don’t get to be married as long as I have without a few well placed lies. I told Mr. Brandie a lie last night. I told him he was the sexiest man I know. It was a little lie because I don’t actually KNOW Keith Urban. I sure do like watching him sing on the Country Music Channel though. That Nicole Kidman got herself a good deal in that man! It’s also OK to tell your wife that she looks great even when she doesn’t. It’s called being kind. Being kind is what makes this world a little easier to live in. Life is hard. You should always try and make things better for the people you love. It will give you a great deal of personal satisfaction. Just don’t lie about anything big and you’ll be fine. Big lies lead to big trouble. Remember that.

Thank you for stopping by. I am always thrilled to have you here. It’s good of you to keep an old lady company. Don’t forget to shut the door on the way out. It’s raining and I ain’t in no mood to be mopping up the floor today. Come see me again next Wednesday. I’ll be telling you about something.

Sincerely,
Miss Brandie

I’ve been working on plans for something really cool that I’m doing in July. I’ll have a post about that in the next few days. The post involves Dan and his fat ass. At least the draft does. We’ll see how the final turns out.

I decided to re-do my youngest’s entire school plan. We’ve kept the same Math (Calvert) and Spelling (Sequential Spelling) because she enjoys both of those but I’ve ditched the reading, science, and history. She’s okay with them but she’s more of a hands-on project type of learner and what I was using was becoming more of a chore than a fun learning experience. So instead of breaking everything up into subjects I’m working on projects that incorporate all the subjects into fun hands on projects. We’ll see how they go and I’ll post some if they turn out as awesome as I think they will. If you’re curious, I’ll tell you that the first project includes making a guitar out of a K’nex box. But that’s all I’m saying until I see how everything turns out!

Our family has five birthdays in three weeks. It’s a busy birthday month. Happy Birthday everyone. Bring on the cake.

I organized my office. Not the whole office, just the messiest parts. I made notebooks for all my favorite projects. They’re complete with label and everything. MyHusband bought a new shelf and left it sitting in the hall so I took it, put it together, and it is now my shelf in my office. Snooze you loose. It looks all fancy in there now. I still have to move the cat box to work at my desk but it works for me.

I’ve been learning about Type 1 diabetes. My neighbors daughter, my daughters’ good friend was diagnosed in October and since I love her and she’s over here a lot I thought I should know more about it. She spent the night here a few weeks ago and it was so hard to help her with her insulin and try to stay calm and upbeat especially when I saw all the bruises on her legs from the injections. I managed even though I sat on the couch and cried after they went to bed. Since then I have been trying recipes for low-carb after school snacks and sugar free/low sugar baking. It’s a little harder since she’s a vegetarian and a growing/constantly hungry kid but I’m getting a few good recipes together.

And that is what I’ve been up to so far in 2010. What about you?

Well I was supposed to see you next Wednesday but something happened that I think I should tell you about while it’s still fresh in my mind. I went and turned my hair purple. No, not on purpose. It was a mistake.

My hairdresser, Mike, the gay guy, usually does my hair on Fridays. He’s a good boy. I feel bad for his mom on account of him not giving her any grandkids but he’s a real good boy and takes care of his momma. She can’t complain about that. Not one bit.

So I was saying, every Friday I go and get my hair done. Once a month I go and get it colored as well. It costs me $40 for the cut-n-color special. That’s what they call it. You get your hair cut and colored. They throw in a fee styling as well. My problem was, I spent too much money on fancy pancake syrup and didn’t have enough for the color part. Mike offered to do it anyway. He said I could pay him next time. I told him no. If I can’t afford to pay you then I can’t afford to get it done. Plain and simple. I don’t like to put myself in debt. It isn’t wise when you’re my age. I could kick the bucket tomorrow and poor Mike would never get his money. He wouldn’t ask Mr. Brandie for it because he’s such a polite young man. He wouldn’t want to interrupt the mourning process with business.

I decided I’d do it myself. They had discount hair coloring at the Bottom Dollar for just 3 bucks. I had three bucks so I decided what the heck, I’ll do it. I read most of the direction and started to color my hair. Oh boy, that stuff did smell bad, but it was in a bin beside the cabbage in the store. I figured that was the problem. They call that cross contamination. It can happen. They should have put some baking soda in between the bins. So I wasn’t too worried. I got it all in my hair and set the timer on the stove to 15 minutes, like it told me to do.

I was so excited dancing around the house in my underwear and a towel singing that old hair color commercial. You know the one; ‘I washed that gray right out of my hair’. That was a good commercial and they should bring it back. I was having so much fun. Then the timer went off and I washed the gray out. The only problem was I washed the gray into purple. It’s not one of those purple tints like the artsy people talk about. It was purple. Just plain purple. So now I got to go to BINGO looking like a floozy. I just don’t know what to do. It’s really not a good thing.

I sure do appreciate you stopping by to hear my story. You are good people to listen to my problems. Remember to take care of yourself and don’t use the hair color by the cabbage at Bottom Dollar. Unless you want to be looking like a purple haired floozy. Then you can go right ahead and do it. I’ll be back Wednesday to tell you about something else. I don’t know what because my head is itching me like the devil and I can’t think straight.

Sincerely,
Miss Brandie

It doesn’t matter if I want the label, and stereotypes, and judgments, or not. I am a homeschooler. I was a homeschooler before I even knew the word homeschooler and I can’t imaging myself in any other role. I truly believe that knowledge and education is not the responsibility of the local school board. It is your responsibility to educate yourself, as you see fit, by whatever means you have available. It is a parents responsibility to ensure their children have the skills to seek out and effectively utilize those means, for their own self-chosen goals. So, I’m putting my homeschool category back on my site and I will be adding to it when and if I have something to post. If you have a problem with that, I’ll find a nice place for you in between the mail order brides and the Viagra ads in my spam queue. Have a nice day.

I also serve dinner every night at 6:30, give or take 10 minutes. I’m not sure why I feel the need to serve dinner at that time every night, but I do. I don’t even think my family knows that dinner is at 6:30. They just show up in the dining room when I yell, Dinner! But I go to great lengths to make sure everything is scheduled to be done precisely at 6:30. Go figure.

You’d think I have some weird time obsession but I don’t. If no one is expecting me and it isn’t dinner time, time is irrelevant to me. I don’t own a watch and I haven’t owned one in about 20 years. I don’t have an alarm clock on my bedside table. I get up when the kids wake me up. I use my cell phone if I feel the need to know the time, but I only feel the need to know the time when I need to be somewhere. Otherwise I don’t care.

I’ve always been like this to some extent. In my past life (my life before kids) I worked as a system administrator for a very large computer lab. Every once in awhile I’d sit down in front of a computer first thing in the morning and start working. After what seemed like an hour to me, I’d look up and realize everyone else was leaving for the day. I may be timeatically challenged.

People sometimes laugh at me when I ask them what day it is. They’ll tell me the date and I’ll say, No, is it Wednesday or Friday? I’m not a scatterbrain. I just divide my days into weekdays and weekends. A weekend is any day that MyHusband is home. It works for me most of the time.

I’ve tried planners books and complex calendar systems. I’ve tried to organized my days into neat little blocks of time. I’ve tried to keep track of things in a linear fashion but I end up spending more time planning on doing things than actually doing things. It doesn’t work out for me.

I guess I’m okay. I get a lot done. I am rarely late for an appointment. I just don’t understand time. I don’t understand schedules.  If I had to go grocery shopping every Monday at 11 am I’d go insane.  I don’t like living my life in blocks of time pre-planned in a date book. Sometimes I wish I did. Life would be easier, I think. I’m just not linear and sometimes I run around in circles. I’m okay with that. Most of the time.

How about you?

December 6, 2006
Telling you about The Christmas Spirit

Dear Reader,

It’s nice to have you back. I know I said I was going to talk about profanity today, but I’m not. It’s my blog and I can talk about whatever I want, so stop complaining. It’s getting close to Christmas and I’ve decided a little bit about Jesus would be good. Now don’t stop reading now. It’s for your own good. I wouldn’t have to be doing this if you had a little common sense.

Last year we were in church on Christmas Eve, like we were supposed to be, and it was a good service. We had a new preacher and he was trying his best to impress us. If you have a bad Christmas service it can ruin your whole reputation. That’s the only time most people actually get to see your service. You don’t get to try again until Easter. I was happy for the preacher. He was doing good. It got to be time for Holy Communion and he was fixing up the wine. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he sneezed. Right into the silver goblet. I sit up front and I believe I might have heard a small splash. My hearing isn’t what it use to be though.

Now, since it was Christmas, the church was packed and he had made a lot of wine into Christs blood. He wanted to make sure everyone could have a some. Thats his job! I think you can understand why not too many people went up there for a drink. I can’t say I blame them. The problem was, there was a lot left over that no one drank. Now you know damn well you can’t just pour that stuff out. It’s sacred for god’s sake!

The preacher did his best to get it down. You could tell that stuff was extra holy because he started turning all red and smiling. He handed the goblet off to the altar boy and the same thing started to happen to him. They were passing the goblet around the altar and I was thinking, “Why don’t they just give it to Deacon Joe?” We all know he’s a drunk. He could get rid of that stuff in no time flat. He would appreciate it too. But that didn’t happen. They finally managed to finish it off.

Anyways, that new preacher finished up the service and I tell you, he was filled with the spirit of Christmas. Christ himself would have been proud. I’ve never seen such a spirit filled preacher in my life. Unless I mention the time I went to get Mr. Brandie out of the bar and ran into Father Mike. But, of course, I’m not going to mention that. All I got to say is it was a good service. A real good service. I hope you understand a little more about the Christmas Spirit now. God Bless you.

Thanks for stopping by and I’ll be back next week. I don’t know what I’m going to be telling you about but it might be about profanity.

Sincerely,
Miss Brandie

I need to breathe. Deeply and slowly.

I thought I was done with Christmas shopping. I bought stuff on-line and I made the rounds to all the local shops for other gifts. I had everyone taken care of. I had a list. I checked it twice. I was organized and prepared. What was I thinking? Organized and prepared never works out for me.

Breathe. This is not the end of the world and there are a few more days until Christmas.

I was heartened when the UPS truck cruised through our neighborhood yesterday. Well until they drove right by my house without stopping.

I was sure The Post Office would deliver the other package yesterday. I mean people were out and about and the mail always gets through, right? Nope. Not a single mail truck sighting. Freakin’ wimps. You don’t get a snow day right before Christmas!

My Father-in-law will be here tomorrow. Luckily I bought his gift in November. Just need to wrap it.

I still need to get groceries. I need to finish baking. I need to wrap what I do have. I need to finish knitting a scarf and hat. I need to make another list. I need a shower. I need a beer. I need to get more beer ’cause we’re out and it’s way to early to start on the hard liquor. I need to finish cleaning the house. I need to hang the stockings by the chimney with care. I need a lot but no one is gonna give it to me so I better just get off my ass and get to work.

If you don’t hear from me I’m either frantically scrubbing toilets, washing towels, and wrapping presents or I’m passed out under the Christmas tree with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head. Either way it’s all good. Have a great holiday!

P.S. Could someone please air drop me some Hershey kisses and diet coke? I’d be grateful.

A little know fact about me is that I was once one of Santa’s reindeer. I know you find this hard to believe, but it could be true, if it were true. And not only was I once a reindeer, I also had a very shiny nose. If you had see me back then you might have even thought it glowed. This an important part of the story so remember that. Nose glowed. Okay, now there is more to the story but it isn’t fit for children so be good for goodness sakes and don’t read this out loud to them on Christmas Eve.

Because of my nose and a few other obvious differences I was made fun of. Things like that happen but that didn’t make it any less hurtful. They didn’t even let me play in their reindeer games. Like Monopoly. I was left out, ostracized by the very deer that I hoped to make my friends. There was nowhere to turn. I had never felt more alone in my life. But things were about to change.

It was a foggy Christmas eve and I heard Santa calling me.

“Rudolph” he called.

My name isn’t Rudolph but I was okay with that. I mean, it hurts that Santa can’t remember my name, but I was alright with it. For the most part. Well, I learned to deal with it. I put on my happy face.

“Rudolph with your nose so bright” He continued, “Won’t you guide my sleigh tonight!”

I jumped to attention.

“Ohh yess, Santa, Yes. I will guide your sleigh tonight. I will guide your sleigh like it’s never been guided before. Give me that sleigh, Santa. Give it to me”

I stood there and waited as the jolly old elf, well, Lets just say, the chimney, he rose. Then he decided to speak.

“Damn girl. I wasn’t talkin ’bout all that now.”

The truth about Santa is that he is not a fat old white guy. He’s really a short skinny gangsta. Possibly from Atlanta but he doesn’t talk much about his old ‘hood. It was traumatic for him.

Now, a lot happened that foggy night and I am legally bound by my reindeer contract not to tell the whole story. They have their version of events and it’s a good version. So, lets just say that by the time I was finished, all the reindeer loved me. I mean, they really loved me. And I loved them too because I love peppermint. I really, really love peppermint. I ate peppermint sticks all night while they shouted out with glee.

Now, as fate would have it, I have gone down in history. But I don’t get any credit for it because Santa doesn’t even remember my name. It’s a sad life I live, but I’ll be fine. Just keep that peppermint coming.

About Me

Miss Brandie
United States

I am an old woman that realized people are as stupid now a days as they were when I was young. I am out here on what they call on-line trying to straighten you people out.

November 29, 2006

Telling You About Sex

Dear Reader,

I was going to tell you about profanity today but I’m not. I was talking to my daughter, the one who married into that white trash family, and she told me to go for sex. If you want people to read your blog then you got to write about sex. I want people to read my blog so I’m telling you about sex.

It’s fine. Ain’t nothing wrong with getting yourself some sex when you’re in the mood. Every single person walking around on this earth has been made from two people having sex. Unless of course you are one of those test tube babies. Then you were made from your father having sex with a container. There isn’t a thing wrong with that either.

I am not that Sue Johansen woman from Canada that I watch on the TV. I like watching that show. It has some good information about sex. Mr. Brandie doesn’t like it as much. He swears that if I don’t turn it off he’s going to have problems that all the Viagra in the world won’t fix. Mr. Brandie doesn’t joke around about his Mr. Johnson. I change the channel as soon as I see him wake up. If I was Sue Johansen I could give you some good advice. Since I’m not, I’m just going to tell you a few things that everyone should know but I don’t think you do.

Now we all know you should wait until you’re married to have sex. I think that’s a good idea. But if you don’t for goodness sakes be safe about it. There is no shame in protecting yourself. What’s a shame is young people out there catching diseases and having babies when all they needed was a rubber to protect them. You can buy those at the drug store and I even saw them at Wal-Mart. They were over by the weight loss products.

I waited until I was married and my first child, the rich one, was born two months pre-mature seven months after I got married. He was a healthy little bugger. It was a miracle of God. A miracle indeed. But that’s not what I’m talking about. There is no reason to be running around having sex all willy nilly with anybody that happens by. No reason in that at all. There are nasty things out there and you don’t want to catch any of them. Have a little respect for yourself. That’s what it boils down to.

There is too much sex on TV. I watch the MTV channel sometimes and I just don’t know what to do about it. I watch the MTV then I switch over to the preaching channel. After I pray a bit, I switch back to MTV. I’ve about worn out the button on my remote. If you want to watch that sex stuff that’s your right and there is nothing wrong with it. But I suggest you round everything out with some preaching. It never hurts to be safe.

To finish up I’ll tell you that sex is good, masturbation is fine, have respect for yourself, be safe, and don’t do anything that will harm another person. If you just follow those guidelines you won’t be having problems with sex. Thank you for stopping by. It was a pleasure to have you. Please come and see me again next week when I think I’ll be talking about profanity.

Sincerely,
Miss Brandie

It was an easy process of sorting through the toys. I’d hold up a toy and say keep or give. And either one or both of the girls would say keep. Then they would go into a five minute speech on why this particular Polly doll with a broken leg was the most special Polly doll. Eventually we’d get a few toys to donate and when they went to bed MyHusband would find a few more to donate. They never missed them.

They’re getting older now and they have their own rooms. Their toys now are smaller and fewer and we don’t have as many issues. I was going to do the Pre-Christmas sort and toss today but there was no need. So instead, I fixed an almond butter and jelly sandwich, poured a glass of milk and started thinking about the good ‘ole days. That’s when I remembered this.

I think they were about 3 and 5yo and their room was a complete disaster. After the obligatory ‘children who don’t have much and would appreciate the donations’ speech, I gave each of them a basket and told them to go in the playroom and fill the basket with toys to donate. A few minutes later they both came out lugging a full basket of toys to donate. My heart filled with pride and my eyes got a little watery. What wonderful, generous, thoughtful children I had! I ran over and hugged them both. Thats when oldest looked into Youngest’s basket. Then Youngest looked in Oldest’s basket. At the exact same time they both yelled, “Hey! Those are MY toys”

I sent them back in with instructions to only donate their own toys. I think I may have also had a large glass of wine. They eventually came back out with a few things to donate. I guess you take what you can get.

Here’s my list:

1. People sending me stupid ass gifts on Facebook. I don’t need a BFF virtual flower bouquet. I don’t even know why my uncle thinks he’s my BFF. Or for that matter, if he even knows what a BFF is. That’s just creepy.

2. Freakin English boy choir music. MyHusband, must you play that every freakin’ year at Christmas time? I hate that crap. It makes the hair on the back of neck stand on end. Not in a good way. I’d rather listen to nails on a chalk board. I’d rather eat raw hamburger. I’d rather read Sara Pallins book. I’m not joking!

3. When the librarian decided to comment on every book I am checking out. Shesh lady, I know it’s good book. I wasn’t checking it out because I thought it sucked. And really are there any bad books, or just bad writers? Think about it.

4. When people call me to tell me about what they bought at the grocery store. Or what they fixed for dinner. Or about their pet hamsters bowel movements. I don’t care and it pisses me off.

5. People that tweet the same exact thing over and over again on Twitter. Dude, I got it the first time and I wasn’t impressed. No need to tweet it sixteen more times. I’m not gonna get more impressed.

6. Teachers that don’t say thank you for a gift. I don’t expect a handwritten note on fine stationary but you need to say thank you. That pisses me off and you won’t be getting anything from me again. When the other teachers get a gift and you don’t, you can go complain about how parents don’t support you.

7. Idiots. Specifically, idiots that complain that the neighbor’s garden hose burst and is flooding their back yard but don’t have enough sense to climb the fence and turn the spigot off. Duhh! Do I have to do everything for you people!

8. Those stupid tiny sample floss packs you get from the dentist. What a waste.

9. Shaving my freakin legs. Why, oh why did I get dark hair and light skin? Why?!

10. People complaining about all the things they hate…Umm, wait. Nevermind.

So, tell me something you hate. Or dislike. Or just want to tell someone about. C’mon, you’ll feel better.

Miss Brandie was a 80-90 yo southern woman.  I created her in bits and pieces from all the crazy old ladies that I grew up with.  The pieces from most of her stories are true, though they are taken from many different people and put together however the hell I felt like putting them together. 

She never left a comment on another blog, never  joined a single social network, or worried about SEO.  Heck, she didn’t even know about those things. But, in her prime, she had more readers than this blog. I think that makes a point but I’ll let you figure that out for yourself .  Unfortunately, I think Miss Brandie must have died because I haven’t heard from her since July 2007.  So, I closed up her blog and moved on.  What else can you do?

Her blog was call, I’m Telling You and this was her tag line:

“Dad! There’s a bug on my swing!”

“Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“I need a jar and a stick. And it’s really big so you need to hold the jar.”

Yet, as inconsistent as my grades were, one thing was constant. “ImPerceptible talks too much.” That was written on every report card I brought home. Except for my fourth grade report cards. The teacher was a little more understanding. She wrote, “ImPerceptible is very socially oriented” I was very happy when I read that even though I didn’t know what it meant. I was kinda sad when I was told it meant I talked too much. I suppose I finally got the message. My eight grade teacher once told me that I had a lot of good ideas but she wished I wouldn’t be so hesitant to share them with the class. I just stood there, shuffled my feet and stared at her.

Hmmmm.

And that’s why I always sneer at my oldest’s grade reports when she brings them home. You’d think after all these years and all the research that has been done teachers would have better sense than to put something like that on a report card. The worst part is, not only can they put it on a report card, it is an option they can check. They don’t even have to take the time to write it! Even though it’s never been checked on my oldest’s report card I still resist the urge to take a black marker and mark that off before I send it back to school.

But this report card was different. It made me smile.

If you’re not on my postcard list and would like to be send me an e-mail with your mailing address.  I’ll be sure to send some silliness your way.

I knew it wasn’t true but it didn’t change my beliefs. I thought he would live forever. I’ll miss you old man…

Because, I want it. I want it so, so very bad. I know I can’t have it and I know if I had it I probably wouldn’t want it anymore. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting it. Nope. Not at all…

What’s worse? Wanting something you’ll never have or wanting something you could have had…if you had tried harder…

I reached out to you and touched your face. My fingertips moving slowly along your cheek my fingers stopping at your lips. You kissed them and I leaned forward putting my forehead where my fingers had been…

I have a lot to say but I can’t seem to write anything today.  I have too much in my head and not enough in my heart.  My heart is bubble wrapped right now.  I had to do that before I went back home.  I’m feeling safe and protected now and I think I’m going to stay that way for awhile.  I’ll let you know if things change. In the mean time I’ll be cleaning out closets and cooking things.  Sorting and organizing my life until the thoughts in my head calm down.  Then I’ll be back.  Take care until then.

It was one of those basic question you find in a elementary school Geography book. I glanced at it and thought, “Walk east on elm. Turn right on Main and keep going until you see the school” That was the answer. Or was it?

It seems that my youngest had other ideas. First she got one of her Polly dolls and put her beside the house marked Taylor’s home. Then the doll kissed her parents goodbye and started off to school. She skipped through the back yard stopping to sing some weird technoish-rap song to entice a kitten down from the tree. It worked. Then she zig-zagged through the park. She dropped her books at the corner of Elk Street but an off-duty police officer helped her pick them up. She had to wait quite a while for the traffic on Main street to slow down enough for her to cross. I’m proud to announce she did remember to look both ways. She stopped by the library to get a book to study. Dad called her and asked her to pick up some bolts at the hardware store. Then finally, she got to school.

I sat and listened to the whole story. I do appreciate her imagination but sometimes I just want to get things done. Hoping to get her to focus I asked her what the most direct route to school would be. She looked at me confused for a second.

“You mean she’s running late!” she shouts.

“Yes” I said and giggled.

“You should have told me that before she left home. Let’s start over!”

“Okay! Lets start over. Get the girl to school, she’s late!”

She starts making engine sounds. Then a helicopter comes and drops a ladder. The doll climbs up to the cockpit and they race straight to the school. She parachuted safe and sound onto the school grounds. There were even a few minutes left over to play on the playground before the bell rang.

I just had to smile. It’s good to be reminded why I don’t send her to school. With prices these days, gas for the helicopter would cost us a small fortune!

So, I drank whiskey in a bar.

I smiled and blew kisses at a man with a snake.

I left the kids with a friend and drove 2.5 hours to see a man play a guitar.

I drank beer.

I walked at night on strange streets

I made jokes about Scottish bagpipe techno gansta music.

I made out with MyHusband on a bench under a street light.

I high-fived drunk 20 something yo boys.

I screamed louder than anyone else to my favorite songs.

I sent and received drunk text messages.

I pounded on the table and stuck my fist in the air.

I listened to stories.

I tipped the bartender way more than he was expecting but less than he was worth.

I got tears in my eyes when the last song played.

I stayed up until dawn too excited to even think about sleeping.

I ate lumpy oatmeal out of a paper bowl.

I saw the sun shining on the top of a mountain.

In the distance I heard the long soft whistle of a train and felt my heart heading home.

Now I’m back. I feel better now and I think I’m ready to be a responsible adult again. I’m actually looking forward to it. My oldest is off to start seventh grade and my youngest is working on Spelling. I’m thinking about making cookies. My garden needs to be weeded and MyHusband isn’t working late tonight. Things are good. I’m feeling happy and I had great summer. Hope you had a great summer too. Bring on the fall!

Then you drive for about 15 minutes and take a right. He grinned and shook his head. About 13 miles he said. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. He doesn’t understand my use of minutes to measure miles but he’s an engineer, he adjusts the scale accordingly.

After that you take the second, or maybe third, right. It’s by the water tower, I think. Maybe just after it. I’ll know it when it get there. And I did. We drove right by the road then we turned around. He pretended to make tire squealing noises as we u-turned.

Eventually we got there. It was a beautiful day and we unpacked the trunk, went up the stairs, and settled in for our vacation. We had a good time. We made memories. We got lost a few times that week. But that life. Sometimes getting lost is the best part of the journey. That’s when you see what a person is really made of. I love getting lost with him. That’s true even when we’re not driving. We travel well together. And really, that’s all that matters.

It’s nights like these, that make me sleep all day
It’s nights like these, that make you feel so far away
It’s nights like these, when nothing is for sure
It’s nights like these, I don’t want you anymore

Yet I’ve only got this one wish
That I was good enough to make you forget
The only boy, who ever broke your heart
Cause nights like these tear me apart

It’s nights like these, the sad songs don’t help
It’s nights like these, your heart’s with someone else
It’s nights like these, I feel like giving up
It’s nights like these, I don’t seem to count for much

Yet I’ve only got this one wish
That I was good enough to make you forget
The only boy, who ever broke your heart
Cause nights like these tear me apart

The beer tastes like blood, my mouth is numb
I can’t make the words I need to say
She had a weakness for writers
And I I was never that good at the words anyways

Well I’ve only got this one wish
That I was as good enough to make you forget
The only boy who ever broke your heart
Cause nights like these tear me apart

When my youngest was little she asked me about the parts of a flower I told her the proper names. Stigma, pistol, stamen, anther, sepal, ovary. Why not? She was curious and she’d learn it one day. No day like the present. So, when she was reading the children’s menu out loud at a local restaurant I got a little irritated when it called the flower parts “male parts” and “female parts” Why didn’t they just name the parts?

“Male and female part?” I questioned her. “What are they called for real?”

She looked at me and told me the the female part was the stigma. I smiled. What are male parts called I asked with a smirk on my face. No one was gonna dumb down my kid.

She thought about it for a minute then a flash of memory came across her face. I waited anxiously for the response.

“Male parts are called the penis!” she said loudly, excited that she remembered.

A few heads turned and I turned red.

They are, Mom! Male parts are called the penis!

Yeah, I taught her that too. What was I thinking?

“Hey! Who wants ice cream for dessert!” I shouted.

wife spanking legal in Virginia – Leesburg, VA
someone spank me – Coshocton, OH
I want my husband to spank me – Arcanam, OH
getting my husband to spank me – Houston, TX
drywall bucket potatoes – Manteca, CA

Umm…? Is there something going on that I don’t know about? I guess the person from CA didn’t get the memo either. And MyHusband, looks like you might have a new career option.

[Update: I just went and refreshed my stats and I have a new one. My husband spanked me last night - Denver, CO  I was wondering why he came to bed so late! ]

I’m not sure when I first saw someone standing at a small farmers road side stand inspecting and shucking ears of corn. I’m sure I was shocked. When I was a kid we use to get corn from Farmer Brown. His name was actually Mr. Wilkins but for some reason I called him Farmer Brown. I’m not sure why. He didn’t mind. Thirteen ears of corn went into a brown grocery bag from the A&P we paid and went home. There was no shucking. No inspecting his corn to make sure it was good enough. You got what you got and most of the time it was good. If it wasn’t there was always an extra ear to make up for it.

That was his corn from his family farm. It was his hard work, his lively hood, and his reputation. You don’t shuck something like that. I don’t know for sure but I suspect that had I been rude enough to start shucking his corn right there at his stand I would have been picking myself up off the ground rubbing the red hand-print on the side of my face. It would have been for my own good because you just wouldn’t do something like that back then.

I guess times change. Now corn is shipped in huge boxes on tractor trailers from farms so large that no one knows or cares who planted it or where it came from. You can stand in your giant grocery store and shuck until your hearts content. It doesn’t mean a thing. The corn is so far removed from responsibility maybe shucking is a good thing. Maybe it’s even necessary.

However, when you decide to go to a small farmers road side stand and buy corn for just a little more than a quarter an ear you should not shuck. That’s just rude. You can if you want. I’m sure the farmer will let you. But when you do, expect the contempt in my eyes. Expect my kids to watch you like you are an animal a the zoo while they wonder about your manners. Expect me to laugh as you drive away. Also expect me to get 13 unshucked ears for the same price you paid for your six carefully inspected shucked ears. Damn city people.

I should probably go grocery shopping but there’s a box of spaghetti in the pantry.

Probably should vacuum the floor but there are Legos everywhere and they make a terrible noise when you suck them up in the vacuum

Might be a good idea to weed the other half of my garden but the weeds will be there tomorrow.

I haven’t throw a ball for the dogs in awhile but they just keep bringing the durn thing back. They’re never satisfied.

I cooked some wheat berries for a loaf of bread last night but they’ll keep for a few days in the fridge.

I did get dressed today, around noon.

I did get a new high score on bejeweled blitz.

I did tell my kids they could have popcorn for lunch.

A few minutes ago I opened my new pack of fine point markers that I bought yesterday. Then I found my tiny little sketch book with the black cover. I’m going to draw all kinds of little things, naughty secret things in it. Then I’m gonna hide it back where no one will ever find it. (In the oatmeal container)

But I’m not going to do that right now. First I’m going to take my youngest to the skate shop so she’ll stop coming in every thirty minutes and reminding me she needs to get grip tape. Then I’ll stop at the grocery store on the way home and pick up something for dinner. Then I’ll finish weeding the garden while dinner is cooking. On the way back in I’ll throw the ball for the dogs so they’ll stop acting stupid. The bread dough will get mixed up while I’m cleaning up the kitchen. It can rise overnight in the fridge.

I am not gonna vacuum though. I’m just not going to do it. It’s my day off!