Stressmastime is Here

Although I try very hard to live in the moment, I find it particularly hard at this time of the year.  Especially because this year,  thanks be to the Theatre Gods, I am insanely busy. 

I did not get all the presents for my kids I wanted to; I have not yet  begun to wrap what I do have; I did not get to decorate the apartment; the apartment itself is a disaster area, due to my Kitties' refusal to clean house.  (And maybe a bit from my never being home/intense laziness.) 

But, at the end of the day, none of that shit matters.  Because, here in Debbieland, there is something about Christmas Day that has a different feel from the rest of the year.  It's like time moves differently; sort of like when you're stoned, but everything isn't as funny and you don't have the munchies.  It's me and my kids, which makes it wonderful, no matter what day of the year it is, and we always have the best time.  There is something about that incredible bond you have with your kids that seems a bit stronger on Christmas.  And all the shit you didn't get done doesn't matter.

I'm really looking forward to that.  But, it doesn't stop me from stressing about it beforehand.  (Along with the added Theatre Stress of:  please let me remember my lines; please let more people come to the show; please let me learn my lines for the next show; please let me get that part I auditioned for, etc. etc.)  Not to mention work.  (Because I have learned the hard way to *never* mention work via social media. Meh.)

So, here's to what really matters during the holiday season:  Being with the people you love.  And hoping they won't mind running lines with you.

How I Learned There Is No Santa Claus

I guess I should have put a spoiler alert in front of that title, but you have to find out sometime.

The Christmas I was nine the present I wanted most was a Slinky.  I know, I know, but I've always been Low Maintenance.  Anyroad, I was extremely vocal about this.  I talked about it ad nauseum, I freaked out when the commercial came on ("Everyone wants a Slinky, You want to get a Slliinnkky!")  It was the 50's, brainwashing was in.  And of course it was the top of my list in my Letter to Santa.

On Christmas Eve, I was telling my mother how excited I was about Christmas, and, in particular, about finally getting a Slinky.  She stopped dead in her tracks and gave me a Joan Crawford "no more wire hangers-ever" look, and said, "What's a Slinky?"  I regaled her with the many wonders of the Slinky and then plaintively reminded her, "I told Santa I wanted it!!!"  She angrily threw on her coat and yelled to my father, "Charlie, I have to go to Thrift Drugs, I'll be right back!"  She came back twenty minutes later with a small, square box in a brown paper bag.

Now, in addition to being LM, I am also Extremely Naive, but I ain't the dullest crayon in the box, so I put 2 and 6 together and figured out that Mommy + Daddy = Santa Claus.  I wasn't so much disappointed in finding out He didn't exist as I was deflated that Mommy hadn't listened to me.  Again.

Moral of the Story:  Keep bitching till you get what you want.

Merry Christmas!

Insert Random Pun About Sleep as Title

I have no business posting anything today, as I am so tired my Exhaustion Meter is down in the Meltdown range; proved by the fact that this morning when I woke up, I had to ask The Kitties my name.  (I'm Meow, by the way.)  Anyroad, I thought since I was drifting along in La La Land today, I might as well write about sleep. DISCLAIMER:  The quality of this post is not guranteed and your money will not be cheerfully refunded if it sucks. 

I love sleep, but I'm not very good about going to bed.  Even if I am as exhausted as I was last night (it's tech week), I will always stay up way past my bedtime, just because I can.  Part of it is because the act of getting ready for bed, (the teeth, the face, the jammies, the constant re-evaluation of my life and worrying about everything) takes so long, it's easier to sit on the sofa, absentedly petting The Kitties and staring into space, a decision I regret the next morning.

But I always repeat the same pattern.  Sa plus change. . . . .  (The elipses are for dramatic effect, not because I forgot the rest of that phrase.)

When I was a kid, my mother went into Full Battle Mode to try to get me to sleep. (And eat, but that's another story.) I had to drink warm milk with molasses in it every night, and yes, it was as disgusting as it sounds.  Along with this concoction, I was told every night that my sister always went to sleep when she was told to, why couldn't I be more like her?   I don't know how this Delightful Duo was supposed to make me want to sleep.  It usually ended up with me laying in bed crying, because I was nauseous and felt inadequate.  The same thing happens today, only it's due to beer and learning lines.  . . .sa plus meme chose.  (See! I told you I knew it!)

Since this has been a life-long pattern, I've gotten used to it.  I know that, eventually, I will get more than five-six hours sleep one night and the next morning I will be my usual, bubbly, delusional self.  And I will promise myself that I will go to bed earlier every night from now on.  And promptly break that promise.  At least I'm predictable. 

And exhausted.  Meow out.



A Quasi-Seasonal Post

I love to shop.  I was veritably raised in a department store when I was a kid (the late, great Kaufman's, in Pittsburgh), so I guess it's in my blood, it certainly isn't in my wallet.

 I am also a bargain hunter.  I'm one of those tacky people who if you tell me you like what I'm wearing and I got a particularly good deal on it, I will bore you with the details.  (Like, no lie, I once got a dress at Rich's when it was Rich's, not Macy's, that was originally $112, marked down to $17!!!! NO LIE!!!)  See??  I can't help it.  It's a Primitive Instinct.  (Caveman:  "Honey, I just killed a mastodon!"  Cavewoman:  "I just picked a bunch of blueberries, discovered there was a raspberry bush right behind it, found a new source of fresh spring water and got an abandoned saber tooth skin that fits me like a glove!"  CaveCouple: "Woot!"  We prehistorically rock!")

But there are some things I can't understand wanting to buy.  One is horses, you all know how I feel about horses, and I cannot for the life of me understand the attraction of Pandora bracelets.  They're not particularly pretty and they're really expensive.  They're like the Rolex of bracelets, another uber-expensive item I don't get.  I suppose if I were in another income bracket (I'm more in an income parentheses, rather than a bracket), I might grasp this concept, but I doubt it. 

Because while I love the Thrill of the Shopping, I'm not that concerned with accumulating cash.  I don't have a gift for it, for one thing, in fact; I am the Anti-Scrooge McDuck.  And despite the Bad Steve Debacle (Slogan:  I put the Deb in Debacle), which still rankles, I'm okay with having just enough money to get by (or buy, if it's a bargain.) The best things in life may not be free, but they aren't Pandora bracelets, either. 

In Which a Dude on TV Pushes my Buttons

Ain't technology grand?  It has changed/improved(?) our life in so many ways, and improves(?) itself quicker than you can say (?). 

For example, It seems in no time at all we had the I-pad, the Better Resolution I-pad, the Smaller I-pad, Reduced Fat I-pad and who knows what the next three hours may bring?  It is mind-boggling to watch us whirling uncontrollably into the future. 

On a completely unrelated note, which I will eventually cleverly tie in to my original premise, this morning I had the TV on, as usual, for background noise, and a commercial (I don't know what it was for) came on which began by a guy saying (paraphrased), "Parents, your daughter is a blessing from God and a precious gift, who will grow up to be a wife and mother...", at which time I pressed the Mute button.  Now, don't get me wrong.  I think there is no nobler calling in the world than being a wife and mother.  I did it, am proud to have done it and feel it was the best experience of my life (the mother part, didn't do so well in the wife arena).  But, you know what?  I would still have been an amazing woman if I had not been a wife and mother.  And while I will humbly admit to being an Incredible Mom, I also have a helluva lot of other incredible accomplishments under my belt, that have nothing to do with parenting/wiving.  I realize those last two sentences essentially said the same thing, but that is because I want to emphasize this point:  Being a parent/partner is not necessarily the end-goal in life--especially for a woman.  Why, here in the 21st Century (right?, I haven't missed a number, have I?), are we not admitting that women are People as well as Baby Factories.

Which brings me back to my original thought.  Technologically, we are leaping forward at a warp-drive rate, yet, large sections of humanity still cling to antiquated ideas of prejudice, homophobia, un-equal rights/pay for women and underwire bras.  If technology can move forward, why can't we as human beings accept the fact that life is too fucking short to waste it on hatred and violence when love and peace would be so much more pleasant? 

I know this is not an original idea; the list is endless of people who espoused this same theory (many of which, sadly, were killed for their ideas).  But, as I get older and crankier, I find I have less patience with people who try to complicate life by wanting everyone to be clones of themselves.  My daughter happens to be married and she and her husband may or may not have children, that's up to them.  If she had never married and decided to have children, that decision would be up to her. If she were gay, that would have been the way she was born.   I did not, after giving birth to her, think, "God has given me a heterosexual daughter to grow up and be a  wife and mother."  Actually, what I thought was, "Cool, I made a person!"  But, I digress. . .

So, Anonymous Dude on my TV, don't tell me my daughter is a gift from God because she will grow up to be a wife and mother.  We are all gifts of the Universe/God/Allah/Yahweh/Whatever (even you, asshole) and we should all love each other and embrace each other's uniqueness and encourage each other to create a peaceful, loving universe. 

If we spent more time on that than inventing new I-pads, I bet we'd all be a little happier.

Reading is Fun and Mental

But in a good way.

I love to read, always have.  I taught myself to read when I was four, because I was bored and lonely. I read all the Little Kids' Books that were popular at the time, Pokey Little Puppy, Engine that Could, Good-Night Moon, etc.  But the coolest books I had were the ones my grandfather gave me. 

For my fifth birthday, he gave me a wonderful book of poems,  "Now We Are Six", by A.A. Milne.  "I'm only five," I told him.  "But by the time you are six, you will have read the book," he answered, which made perfect sense to  me.  It's still one of my favorite books and I read it several times a year.

He gave me a book called Anno and Tanno, about two kids growing up in Norway.  It was beautifully written and had gorgeous illustrations, and had the ability to make me feel I was right there with naughty Anno and Tanno, slipping out of my boots  (as I was being punished by standing behind the blackboard), and running out into the snow.

The year I was in fifth grade, Pappap was in the hospital with a mild heart attack, but he had my dad give me the book he had bought for me--a huge, gorgeous book of Japanese Fairy Tales. 

I read  these books a million times when I was a kid.  I love the fact that the books he gave me opened up  a completely different world that I would never know in person.  And that every time I think of them, I can feel their magic all over again.  That is pretty fucking cool.

There are a gazillion things I adored about parenting my kids when they were young, but one of my Top Faves has to be reading to them.  It didn't matter that they invariably picked a book that we had already read 1,000 times; or that they were old enough to read the book themselves; the joy of them cuddling up next to me, totally lost in the world of the book, gave me a special closeness with them like nothing else.  And it always seemed to me that I could feel my grandfather's love surrounding us.

Thanks, Pap.

Smell Ya Later

I spent most of my morning looking at perfume on-line.  This is fun because:

1.  I am a Girly Girl

2.  The names and descriptions of a lot of the perfumes are delightful.

Here are some examples of my favorite perfume names:

Cheap & Chic Hippy Fizz

Glow After Dark (main ingredient:  nuclear waste)

Ed Hardy Love & Luck (wasn't he a character on Married With Children?)

Moschino Funny (which I keep reading as Maraschino Cherry)

Halloween Freesia (one of these things is not like the other. . . .)

Poupee (really???  "What are you wearing?"  "Poupee."  "Yuck.")

fcuk (supposedly stands for French Connection UK, but, come on. . . . This may also be the Official Perfume of Dyslexics of America.)

Sex on the Beach (tag line:  "Make yourself happy, then look around."  Presumably to make sure no one saw you making yourself happy.)

Some of my favorite ingredients with unimaginable smells:

Neroli

Ofbarrigtonia Flower

Bourbon Geranium

Tonka Bean (no relation to the trucks, I hope)

Fig Leaves

Juicy (????)

Pink Pepper

Bamboo Chord

Sand Accord (is that a beige Honda?  Who wants to smell like a beige Honda?)

I have certain rules about what perfume I wear.  First, I will not wear any perfume made by Jessica Simpson, Celine Dion or Paris Hilton, because I have some pride.  Second, the musk/patchouli thing doesn't work.  If I wear something with those ingredients, after a while I start to smell like old socks, not a good aroma for me.  Third, I prefer a new perfume, rather than a classic.  If I wear something that's been around since the 40's or 50's, I feel like I've been stuck in a drawer filled with mothballs, and I constantly hum Tommy Dorsey songs.   Last, I'm a pretty poor/cheap fucker, and I don't want to spend more than $25. 

I haven't decided what to buy yet, I'm enjoying the cyber-hunt too much.  But don't be surprised if the next time you see me I'm reeking of Tonka Beans and Ofbarrigtonia Flowers.