My Failures – An Unfinished Expose

Failure: Vegetarianism

About 20 years ago, I embarked on the journey of meat free living. It lasted for five years. It was a stupid proposition for me, being a veggie hater. But my heart was oh so pure, and I wanted to practice what I preached, but what happened was that I ate lots and lots of starches, very few vegetables, tons of pizza and pasta. Not. Fucking. Smart!!

But I did keep up with it for five years, and I did feel good about my soul, although it was slathered in lots of fat. I fancied myself an Indian food lover, which I still believe, except that I order everything mild, which is just wrong and full of cheating goodness!

Just the best of everything

I can’t even tell you how many birthdays I spent at Gandhi – I need to take Kiddo there – it’s been too long!

Failure: Animal Activism

Once I went to Bloomingdales at Christmas time with a stocking full of coal. I smacked it down on a specific cosmetic counter and it made the loudest smack sound. I then told the poor counter girl that the stocking full of coal was for all the animal testing they’d done to make women pretty. Then I got super embarrassed and ran out. I still laugh about it to this day, and we’re again going back decades!

My friend Don was NOT a failure. He would dress up like a bunny. In a bunny costume. And he would protest fur sales and testing, you name it. The cops would come, they would arrest him, and then they’d take his mugshot both with and without the bunny head. He was brilliant, and funny and ultimately became an environmental lawyer. Me? Oh I stayed in the music business. It was fun. Ugh.  This picture?  No, that’s not Don!

I Love Self Portraits. Of Monkeys. They Rule. PLUS – My Own Monkey Story!

Say cheese: The monkeys were intrigued by their reflection in the camera lens

Monkey Steals Camera, Takes a Series of Self-Portraits – StumbleUpon.

I have a quick monkey story. Kiddo loves to hear it.

Monkeys, well, they like me.  I don’t know why.  I shower and shave, so they can’t think I’m their mother, but that’s kinda how they act.  Anyway, back in the old days, a/k/a The Eighties, I was heading home from work on a hot summer day in the West Village.  There was a Mr Softee Ice Cream truck that was begging me to stop, and so I did.  I had an ice cream cone and was now very happily walking toward the subway station.

But just before the entrance, a man was hustling for some money.  He was saying something about working as security for a lab at a university, and how he couldn’t tolerate what he’d seen being done to animals.  So I reached into my pocket for some change for him when I stepped up toward the hat/box/money container/whatever it was, and found myself looking straight into the eyes of a small monkey.  In a diaper.  I was hunched over, frozen in time, staring into the most incredibly innocent yet wicked and very intelligent eyes.  It then occured to me that this dude had rescued a young specimen from a terrible fate.  That’s when he grabbed me.

This little freakazoid grabbed my arm and climbed up so fast I couldn’t believe it.  What flashed through my mind? Is he going to bite my face?  Is he going to rip my hair out?  I didn’t know, so like the girl I was, and still am, I closed my eyes in terror.

Nothing happened.

When I opened them, he was sitting on my arm with one of his arms around my neck.  His other arm was extended, and his little monkey hand was on mine.  I thought, my God! This is amazing!  And then of course he tilted my hand, tilted his head, looked into my eyes, and ate my ice cream cone.

I couldn’t help it.  I started laughing.  The fear was gone entirely.  He was the cutest thing ever, but I really didn’t know if ice cream was going to hurt him, so I asked the guy.  He apologized and offered to buy me another ice cream cone and I told him he was an idiot if he really thought that’s what I wanted.  We didn’t know if the ice cream would end up giving him the runs, but he was deliriously happy, and there wasn’t all that much since he’d accidentally pushed most of it to the ground, so he got the treat.  When he was finished,  he gave me an icy cold monkey kiss on the face which was followed with a smile.  And in the end, I got the best treat of all!

Kiddo Is Afraid

Kiddo has a fear of both feathers and birds.  This seems to have come out of nowhere (although I’m very willing to blame a Barbie movie with Kelsey Grammar in it) and it now would appear to be getting worse.

Greedy Bastards

Mozzarella Thieves!

One day last month, we were on the beach, and we had opted for a snack bar lunch on this particular day.  It was of the incredibly (un)healthy variety, and included french fries and mozzarella sticks.  Kiddo and I went and got a table to wait for the rest of our family to join us from the snack bar.  No sooner did I put the freaking food down when the biggest seagull you’ve ever seen swooped down on us like a winged gangster and stole not one, but TWO piping hot mozzarella sticks.  Now, the German tourists who were watching this found it hilarious, even when Kiddo began screaming, shaking and crying with a force and energy I had never seen from her before.  She was frozen stiff, scared to death.  My sister had just stepped out toward the table and Kiddo made a break for her.  It took us a while to calm her down, and even longer to persuade her to go back to the beach.  But when she DID go back, she was now also afraid of the waves in a sharper, more phobic way.

I love birds.  I think they’re awesome.  A friend had birds while I had cats.  Her birds were all messed up mentally because she hadn’t spent enough time with them, and when I’d sleep over, they’d break out of their cages and hop around on my face.  I just wanted to take them all home, but the cat thing made it unrealistic.  When I found out I needed surgery for what I was told was breast cancer (and which wasn’t, thank God/Goddess), I ended up wandering around NYC in a zombie like fugue.  I ended up in a pet store where I found a Sun Conure that I fell so deeply love with that I harrassed my husband over and over again to go and buy him with me.  I’d go into the store, he’d go crazy, roll around on the bottom of the cage while I stroked his tummy, he fell asleep on my finger once, and the shop people offered me their employee discount because the bond was so great.  He did end up being purchased by a nice man, but I hated him with jealousy for a year for good measure.

This fear is so difficult to understand for me, but I’m trying.  Yesterday we went to an Italian festival/carnival out on Long Island, and they had an animal station type of thing.  It was the nicest “petting zoo” I’d ever seen, because they didn’t give you pellets, they gave you fresh lettuce and carrots to feed the animals.  They had baby pigs, llamas, turtles, lizards, a dwarfish cow, bunnies, guinea pigs and a few other adorable animals, as well as some baby chickens.  Yeah.  Baby chickens.  They had mixed up some of the animals in a few spots and when I said “look honey, baby guinea pigs!” there were also some baby guinea hens and chickens.  Rigid.  White in the face.  Screams. She was not right on top of the booth – she had space. She was terrified.  I didn’t know what the hell to do.  I could see she was scaring the animals, so I had concern for both she and them.  I lifted her up and put her over the fence to my sister and husband.  She calmed down and went on a pony ride.  I stayed with the animals for a while longer because I wanted to make sure I didn’t react with annoyance or anger.  It was eye-opening.  Many parents weren’t really interested in the animals, so I ended up showing the kids how to feed them and playing with the animals.  It broke my heart that I couldn’t show Kiddo.

So, what’s next?  Therapy?  Will she outgrow this?  Ugh.  You know, she’s also very shy and finds it difficult to talk to new people, but she heard me say something complimentary about a young woman I saw with some interesting tattoo work, and she said “Mama, let me go and tell her you like the tattoos.  I’ll give her your card!”  I said how awesome it would be, and she did an amazing job.

Tomorrow, First Grade begins, and I know it’s tearing her up inside.  Mama and Papa were home most of the summer with her, so it was kind of idyllic for her (for me, it was a dream come true.) But life is going to change now and all I can offer her is a lavender bath tonight with fresh jammies, and a new school outfit for tomorrow that her aunt is buying for her as we speak.  Advice is welcome. So is criticism.  I need some help. I love this kiddo!

Oh, and thanks for listening.

In My Little Town…

I grew up believing. God keeps his eye on us all. Nice Simon and Garfunkel opening to my blog post.

Last week I had to go to the unemployment office, which is never fun. I had to watch a 45 minute video about how to find a job, and then a counsellor talked to me and told me to apply for some clerical gig in my…hometown! It was a little depressing. But then I got to leave, and walked about half the way home.

I was dressed in Pretend Work Clothes, so I burned with the need to do something quietly rebellious. I began snapping pictures with the camera phone of various “Hicksville” things.

Up there is A Step Ahead Prosthetics.  I laugh everytime I pass this place.  Why?  Because my first marriage was to a pathological liar who thought he was Sid Vicious.  When I finally got him out of my home at the time I was separating, I had heard that he was telling people I kicked him out to pursue a career in making prosthetics.  It was his best story.  Totally untrue, but I would have been happy to do something cool like that!

Once upon a time, I hated this town. I couldn’t wait to leave when I was a teenager. I needed to be in the city, dammit. Well, let’s cut a long story down to it’s core. Did the city. City did me. Couldn’t take it anymore, moved back to Long Island and eventually came right back to buy a house 2 blocks from where I grew up. Uh huh. Now I love it. I truly do love it. I love the people here and I love Kiddo’s school. Even though I love to whine and gripe, I’m in the enviable situation of having gotten all I wished for in life – a healthy child and a home (and the dopey marriage thing, but we need to discuss at a later date).

So I wanted to share some pictures I took while walking half way home, plus I’ll add a few from The House.

This is like an inside joke for Hicksville.

The Recently Decapitated House Down The Road Apiece.

One of those rare strip mall shopping thingys on Lawn Guyland!

A flair for naming salons! Here it is a little closer! Can ya…smell those nails?

Least favorite place in town. Too many years of early (or not so early) mornings, late nights and everything in between.

There’s more here than Teresa Caputo (who went to my school and is just a little younger than me!) and Billy Joel (whom although I’ve heard he’s an awesome dude, bores me to tears and is MUCH older than me!)

Closer to home, there are a few inhabitants who share the little house I love.

She's in a box.  She likes to hang out in boxes.  Don't ask.

Anna Mangani, Guinea Pig

One of my boyz.

He likes to suck on metal, You really oughtta pet him, the Adams Family!

Jerk Wouldn't Take No For An Answer!

He just refused to leave. So we had to use the backdoor. Big Green Pain In The Ass!

I hope you enjoy your mini tour.  I will include photos done by the Kiddo when she grants me permission and rights!

Happy Birthday To Me…..

It's My Party, And I'll Avoid Drama If I Wanna!


It’s the very start of my birthday.  If you visit the blog at any time on August the 20th and wish me a happy birthday, you will get big blessings from the tattoo fairy (no, you won’t, but I’ll send you mad love astrally – I promise).  I hope this year will be a good one.  I hope I can write well enough to inspire people to come by and check this blog out.  I hope I get the chance to help more people this year, to be an even better mother, sister, friend, wife, and human being.  I hope I make good choices and decisions.  I hope we all stay or become good and healthy this year.

Hold The Clowns, Leave The Gifts!

Don’t Clowns Just Creep You Out??

My wish as a gift is obvious.  A tattoo.  And lucky me, on September 14th that wish comes true!  So excited.

I love this blog and it thrills me to the core that you give me some time in your very busy lives when you stop by.  I thank you kindly!

Do Turtles Sneeze?

Turtle Soup by tarotastic
Turtle Soup, a photo by tarotastic on Flickr.

This was the question that the nearly 6 year old Kiddo asked of me. I thought, yes, they probably do. She, on the other hand, couldn’t imagine this. “They don’t have noses,” she said. “Sure they do,” I replied. “Don’t they?”

So we made a bet on it. She wanted a $100 marker, but I made her settle for $5. We looked it up on the internet.

Turtles sneeze. And it’s usually a dangerous sign of upper respiratory infection.

I found this picture of a turtle on Flickr. This turtle was purchased by a saintly person named Taro Taylor and her cousin from a fish market. They shot a picture and released him into the sea. I love that. Thank you Taro – for the use of the picture and for saving a beautiful animal!! By the way….did he happen to sneeze?



Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr again!

You’ve been warned.  I’m gonna bitch.  About the husband.

We had take out tonight.  We sat at the table like a human family tends to, which was nice.  After we ate, I pulled out invitations for my daughter’s birthday party.  I could feel eyes staring at me with that violent disappointment kind of vibe.  I met that gaze.

“Problem” said I, not really inviting an answer.

“You’re gonna do that now?”  he said with his stupid accent. He’s from Europe.

“Clearly”, I said as I continued addressing these tiny invites.

“I guess you have to do this now?”  he snaps.

“It’s a funny thing.  I need to send them to school with her tomorrow, so I’m pretty sure it’s gotta be now”.

He gets up from the table, slams his chair and storms into the living room saying “I’m leaving the room”.  He’s the MASTER of the obvious.  Also of the oblivious, but that’s another story.  He called kiddo in with him, so I was left in solitary in the kitchen to finish my very selfish work.  It took about 4 minutes.  Now he’s stomping through the house with this impotent rage that I guess comes along with male depression and I’m in the darkened computer room trying to understand WHY I wanted to be married.  For the second time.

Ugh.  I guess I’ll go to bed WAY early tonight.  See yas tomorrow!