Just another conversation with my son.

Just another conversation with my son.

My son and I just realized we are starving. A conversation about who is fixing food for whom ensues. Of course, he wants me to do it.

Following are some just of the things LJ has said to me;

· Mom, you know I can’t make simple food.
· I’m saving YOU money by wanting a sandwich.
· They just taste better when you make them.
· MOM MOM MOM MOM (insert Tarzan yell)
· Don’t make me use your government name.
· It is your god given right to make me a sandwich!
· Mooooooooooooom Pleeeeease!!
· You’re kinda being a dick right now.
· Don’t make me call Papa.
· (yelling) Mom, mother, mommy mom, mom c’mon… Please PLEASE!!
· Mother, please make me food.
· One day I won’t need you to make food for me. Take advantage of this NOW.
· You know what would be the worst thing EVER? If you made me food now. I’m over it. Not hungry. (Reverse psychology)
· Yeah, not hungry now. I wish I was though. So I would be happy about a sandwich.
· MOTHER!! Hollie! Ms. Monaco! I’m hungry.
· If you make me food, I’ll be quiet for the rest of the night.
· (Sounding pitiful) I don’t deserve this.
· *Heavy sigh…
· Is this what not being loved feels like?
· I hope you know that when the time comes and you need to be put in home, I’m not picking a nice one. Because you’re an asshole.
· Mother, I’m not asking again.
· *Loud screaming, wailing, fake crying
· Mom, why do you hate me?
· I just want you to know I’m not very happy with you right now.

*** I’m laughing so hard ***
· I’m glad you think this is funny because I think you’re an asshole.
· Mom please, I begging you. I’m begging you for food.
· Mom, I’ve been more than polite.

Seriously, 20 minutes of this. I’m dying. And now, I’m off to make us sandwiches. He earned it!!

​This story is titled “My Son, the Butthole”.

Last Thursday night, I put a few things in the washer; my jeans, shorts, a few other random items and his, oh so special, fabulously colored draaaaws.  As I went to bed I asked, “Please get the stuff out of the washer tomorrow. Nothing dries, hang it all. I’m working all weekend.”  
I worked doubles Friday and Saturday. Sunday, I came home, took him to sushi and promptly passed out.  Today, I go to get my clean shorts and discover (almost) EVERYTHING still in the washer. 

My Son, the Butthole, took out ONE PAIR of clean, dry, pizza print draaaaws last night. Thank Thor it all dried on its own in there!!  Why didn’t I think of this method??

Now, I’m re-washing the load.  I’d like to thank my son for taking butthole-ism to a whole new level.  

mom’s gonna be mad

mom’s gonna be mad

So, I got a new tattoo and I didn’t tell my mom. She’s gonna be mad. She says I have too many. She loves me. She knows my story. She just doesn’t understand my need to tell it on my skin.

Some people get it. Some people don’t and that’s okay. I get compliments from friends and strangers. I get nasty comments from friends and strangers. While I don’t care what anyone thinks, I gotta say, the negativity from friends stings just a little. In the end, you should know I didn’t get my ink for you. I got it for me and I’m truly happy with my skin.

This tattoo is the begining of a Supernatural sleeve on my left arm. Yeah, I know you’re thinking it’s just a t.v. show and maybe it is to you. For me it’s a fandom and a family. I relate to more things in this show than I should. They hunt monsters. I’ve lived with monsters all my life; in person and in my head. There are things about the characters as well as what the actors themselves do to promote positive mental health that spoke to me in a way I cannot put into words.

I’m excited to see the end result and maybe some of you are as well. Just know I’m doing this for me. If you have a question or something nice to say, I’d love to hear it. If you want to be negative, go ahead. I know how to deal with monsters.

There is no Zen in my bathtub

​Take a hot bath with Epsom salt, they said. It’ll feel amazing, they said…

I’m 5’3″

I have ZERO Zen.

My tub has no stopper. I used a shot glass.  Filled the tub with scalding hot water and dumped in a bunch of salt. Due to the size of the tub, my options are to soak my feet and butt or my butt and shoulders, no knees. It’s the knees and shoulders that need it.  So I slouch down into the tub then realize if I flip over I can soak more of me. Tried that, almost drowned. Flip back over wondering how the fairy Fuck this is supposed to work or be relaxing at all. 

Sitting still, sweating horribly, searching for some Zen… And I pulled the plug (or shot glass in my case).  I made it 21 minutes. I don’t feel any better and I’m kinda irritated. The water tank was drained from filling the tub.  Now there’s no hot water; no way to rinse off. So, I’ll spend the rest of the day smelling like eucalyptus and lavender. Yay me!  

So much for feeling “amazing”.  

People Please!

So I gotta say I’m saddened by all the negativeness and insanity that has played out since the election. Some people got the president for whom they voted. Others did not. In ANY competition of ANY kind, there is a winner and a loser. It is what it is. America made a choice.

It is my opinion (and not necessarily an educated one) most people did not so much vote FOR Trump as they did AGAINST Hillary. And let’s be honest, neither of the two are what any of us would call “upstanding citizens, “honest” or even “decent human beings”.

What has hit me the hardest are the “if you voted for Trump, delete me” posts  on facebook which go on to say “if you voted for him you are hateful, racist, bigoted, asshole, etc.”
A) That’s a little hypocritical. Talk about hateful!
B) Do you honestly see a halo over Hillary’s head?? Don’t kid yourself, that bitch has done and said some evil shit.

By the above rationale, stating anyone who voted for Trump is all those horrible things then, if I laugh at one of Jeffrey Dahmer’s jokes, I then support gay rape, kidnapping, necrophilia and cannibalism. Which I do not, however; had he been funny, I’da laughed at his joke.

Please understand, I am not riding the Trump train. My disdain for both candidates since this whole ugly mess started has been abundantly clear. They are both terrible humans. And we are losing our humanity over it. It makes me sad.

We were given the task of choosing the LESSER of two evils, NOT the BETTER of two candidates. We should be asking ourselves how it was even possible either of them were an option.

#CalmDown #YoureMakingItWorse #IStillLoveYou #ImNotHappyHeWon#IWouldNotHaveBeenHappyHadSheWon#TheWorldDodNotComeToAScreechingHalt #HeDidntWinDictatorship#ThereWillBeNoExecutions #SpreadLoveNotHate #AgreeToDisagree

to ink or not to ink


I am 47 years old. I have a full sleeve on my right arm, a full back piece and my right calf is tatted.  There are a few other small tattoos scattered (tastefully) in various places.  I love my ink.  The answer to the question, “To ink or not to ink?” is ALWAYS “YES!”  Or is it?

People always ask about my tattoos.  Where, when, why did I get them?  What’s the story behind each one? Did they hurt?  Do I regret them?  How am I going to feel about them when I am older?  So many questions, to which I have answers.  My favorite question has always been, “What are you going to do when your kids ask if they can get a tattoo?”  My reply has always been the same.  Yes, my children may have tattoos.  How could I say no?  Why would I?

My son has always said he would only get ink if it was a memorial tattoo for his sister or me.  A little on the dark side, but it makes sense.  A cousin of his got a tattoo for his younger brother who passed.  They were both in their teens.  The younger brother was diagnosed with cancer and was given the honor of inking the outline of the tattoo on his big brother.  It’s a beautiful piece with more meaning than any other tattoo I’ve ever seen.  This tells me my son would not get a tattoo unless it really moved him.

My daughter, for years, has said she wanted a stick figure on the inside of her right wrist.  No story. No reason. It’s just what she wanted. Truthfully, I’ve been looking at stick figure tattoos getting ready for when she is ready.  Maybe a mother daughter tattoo??  Then, this year, she said she still wants a tattoo, but probably not the stick figure. Damn, I was kinda excited about this idea! Madi is a free spirit.  I can see her getting a few.  Maybe she will want a matching one with me as one of them.

These are the rules I’ve had in my head:

  1. You must be 18.
  2. You have to tell me repeatedly you want the same image/design in the same place.
  3. There should be story/reason behind what you want.
  4. Do not sneak off and get a crappy tattoo.
  5. Let me take you.  I love and trust my artist.

Until now.

Recently, my son has come to me and asked for a tattoo.  My son, the cautious one.  The boy who takes no risks.  My first born and still very much the baby at 16 years old.  I was shocked and intrigued.  So, I asked what he wanted, where he wanted it and why?  While, I’m not exactly thrilled with the origination of the concept, I must say I was pretty moved by his story.  It’s well thought out and it means a lot to him on an emotional and artistic level.  I won’t share the what or the why.  That’s his story to tell.

For the purpose of this blog the simple details are this: He wants in on his left forearm.  The image would be about 2.5″x5″ish.   He’s a large kid (6’4″, 275 pounds) so it’s proportionate.  It is tasteful and simple.  He says he eventually wants a full sleeve of all music related images.  Who’da thought??

So, here I sit, questioning my rules.  I know I’m right, but I think maybe I’m not.  This mom stuff isn’t easy.

Music has always moved me.  To this day, my most favoritest (I know that isn’t a real word.  It’s my word.) music is the music I listened to when I was 16-21! Tastes change. The world changes. I get it.  I’m trying to apply logic and have a rational argument against this.  That is what a normal, good mom would do, right?  But, I end up arguing with myself. I still LOVE the same music.  It moves me.  Hmmm… This is really tough.  Both of my children are headstrong and they want what they want.  I know this isn’t a rash decision.  His story was quite moving, really.

I have a n appointment on the 20th of this month.  More ink for mom. Do I take him with me?

To ink or not to ink?  That really is the question.