Mourning Before the Morning: On Mothers, Dixie Carter, and the Ugly Fucking People in the Mall

Well, I was just sitting here being lazy and blah, and realized I had a text from someone - let's call her Rita Coolidge - who was feeling down tonight for various reasons, largely because of the Dead Mother stuff, and some child rearing shit too. Of course, I am all over this like white on rice, because who better to talk to about the mama stuff than me? True, my relationship with my mom wasn't as complicated as hers was with her mom, but you know, in the end, your mom is your mom, no matter how difficult the relationship, so I have to say part of me is glad that she is feeling shit about all of this, because if she wasn't, I'd worry. I say this because I know someone who's mother died last week, who was buried yesterday, and she didn't go to the funeral, even though she's 70, her mom was 92, and they DID have a relationship up until a few years ago, when the mama went senile and all this other family shit happened. I mean, when you are 70, isn't it time to just forgive? Ah hell, life is funny, hey?
Anyway, in the midst of all of this crisis, she mentions that Dixie Carter died. I reacted like I had shit my pants, but I have to admit something. On that stupid show - Designing Women - I couldn't stand Dixie. Fuck, that's another sign your social life was in the shitter, when you were trapped watching Designing WOmen on Monday nights. It always annoyed the ever-loving fuck out of me. You know that I am the biggest liberal out there, but I hated being hit over the head with it. Dixie was just so annoying, in the same way Ted Danson and his wife are annoying - the "oh, look at us, we are ultra-democrat and we are going to adopt gay black babies and french kiss them and then have "solidarity now" tatooed on our asses to show support for Poland, and then break WInnie and Nelson Mandela out of jail" type. I had thought Annie Potts was cool, but then again, I was 16 at the time, and as the show went on, she annoyed me. That fat one was really good, but then she turned out to be a gun-toting Republican married to Simon and SImon, so i couldn't like her in the end, being 18 and liberal, but I was glad someone else got fat besides me. And I always wanted to scream "It's fucking pronounced 'sharlene', not CHARL-ene'. And Meshach Taylor - well, you know I have absolutely nothing against the two-spirited people of the earth, but motherfucker, let the fucking brother be GAY on that show, instead of not mentioning it. Let him be full of hickeys and leather pants and shit, instead of being a fucking southern EUNICH.
But back to Dixie. In the end, I think I would have loved her as a person. But as a character, fuck me Dorothy, she annoyed back in the day. But rest in peace, Sugarbaker..... I wonder if that old man she was married to is still alive? And back to Annie Potts - wasn't she also in some bus accident, a la Barbara Mandrell and Gloria Estefan?? Fuck, those bitches and their bus stories. I still remember my friend Sue's mom, from next door, back when we were kids. The Mandrell Sisters show was on, and they were all singing and shit, and suddenly her mom, who had quite a few gin and tonics, jumped off the couch, and started shaking it, and imitated in a Mandrell voice, to the tune of the song they were singing "Who's boobies are the biggest" and was shaking her own business like nobody's business. It was so frigging funny. God love our drunken parents in the 1970s.
This is the most even keeled I've been today. I thought i slept ok, but I woke up tired and in such a bad mood. I was so grumpy, and, if I must admit, quite horny for much of the day, and I knew that an improved mood and time for some afternoon delight was really not possible, so I was just irrate with everyone and everything and was ready to freak the fuck out. By about 5 o'clock I was in a better mood, and my wife and I were out about town, without kids, and we had an hour before we had to pick one up from a birthday party, so I took her to this dive restaurant she's never been to, but one I love - I used to work across the street from it, and it's this Chinese place that smells really greasy and looks really dirty and is situated in the downtown core, which is really scary, of our town. Anyway, I love this place and took her there, and we had some great food and listened to this old Indian woman tell her companion all about Bingo and how big the last pot was, and how she didn't have enough $$ at Dollarama, etc., and it just made the day seem so much better.
But let me say that we were downtown doing errands, and we had to go to the mall, and remember how I said how ugly people were in our Walmart? Well, the people in our mall are even uglier. The mall is in the downtown core, full of gang people and ugly white trash and everyone had tattoos on their necks, and i am sorry - I know many of you have the tattoos and like that shit, but when it's on your neck, you know it just screams trash. So when people have some bullshit name written on your neck, like "Keyanna" or whatever the fuck your daughter is named, or worse, some fucking Asian bullshit letters that just prove you are a drug addict, or some hideous picture of a star or whatever, well, I hope you enjoy wearing turtlenecks 20 years from now. Because, you know how people laugh at those eagle tatoos from the 70's mullet men, or the black roses from women in the 80s, or hearts on men in the early 90s men? Well, that neck bullshit will be judged the same. So suck it up buttercup, because you will be hiding those things like hickeys soon.
Anyway, I hate to cut this short, but I really need to get to bed. But let me just say this: Mourning is mourning, and it doesn't end. There are good days, and there are bad days, and there times you wonder why it is hitting you like it does. Like yesterday - I was laying in bed, reading my Mormon book, and then I was reliving my mom dying, and the moment I had to leave the hospital room, and her, forever. And in that moment, that caught me by surprise, because just 1 minute ago I was thinking about Mormons and their misguided ways, and suddenly I am holding her hand and kissing her goodbye again, and trailing my sisters out of the room, and getting one last look, and thinking "this is the last time I will see her again" and feeling that panic and then leaving the room and getting into my car, and realizing as I drove away that this was the loneliest feeling I had ever had, and I wanted to just drive my car straight down over the bridge and into the river. And how that whole thing came to me, I don't know. But it's those moments out of the blue that shock us, no matter how well we think we are coping, that make us freak out and wonder when it will be better. But you know, maybe it's a good thing we still feel. I think it shows that no matter how guarded we are, it shows how deeply we love, and how deeply we carry the memories of those we love. And even though we will always be filled with regret - the should of, could have, would have syndrome - you know the Kate Bush song "This WOman's Work?" Not the Maxwell version, but the orginal, written and performed by Kate whilst her mom was dying - youtube it if you are strong enough for a cry - in the song, Kate sings the words "all the things we should done but we never did, all things we should have said but never said" (I got those two lines backwards, sorry). Well, we are always haunted by that stuff. But you know, we can't change the past, and even if you aren't of a spiritual nature, I truly believe they know how you feel. Even my wife, who I would say at best is an agnostic who doesn't deny a higher power but doesn't necessarily believe in one, will tell you that the two people who have died in my immediate family since we've known each other have sent us messages - the night my brother in law died, when my phone was busy for hours because I was on my dial-up modem, my sister was on her way to our house finally at 1:00 to tell us, and right before she rang the bell, our candle holder exploded, shooting fire and glass everywhere, which woke Rachel up and got me off the computer, right before the bell rang.
Then when my mom died, and I was planning the song for her funeral and got everyone to agree with "In my Life" by Judy COllins, my sister popped over, and I said "well, for my funeral, I want "Life is Eternal" by Carly Simon, and i put it on the stereo, and about 30 seconds into it, the volume on the stereo shot up to full blast - from 11 to about 47 - and nobody was by the dial, and the remote was sitting without batteries in the drawer in the kitchen. I had to run to the stereo, turn it down, and said, out loud "OK, Mom, Carly it is". So yeah, I think they are with us then, and know how we feel. SO no need to feel guilt about anything. And I think we should cry when we want to and need to, no matter how much time passes. At times I get weirded out that I am still not entirely healthy because of mom dying, and it's been almost 2 years, but you know, we do what we do, and we don't just move on. So I say let's feel what we need to, cry as much as we want, and just be.
Ok, I fell off the soapbox - so, let me just say rest in peace mom, rest in peace "Rita Coolidge's mom", and rest in peace Dixie Carter. We'll laugh at our fun memories, we'll regret so much we wish we could go back and change, and we'll think we are over it, and be upset that we can't get over it, and also be glad that we will never be over you, because you are worth mourning forever and ever. But we will also do our damndest to make the most the time we have here. And we will always be thankful for friends who "get it" and understand. And even when we feel alone and apart from others, and alone in our mourning, well, we are not. So, Rita Coolidge, even though you may never have any kind of "All-time High" relationship with your biological family again, it's still necessary to mourn your mom, and even if you aren't sharing your grief with them, Lord knows you got us, here.
So, everyone, it's ok - we'll be ok. As the recently departed Alex Chilton sang with Big Star, in the song best known as the theme to "That 70's Show", 'we're all allright.'
Amen Brother.
Seacrest out.

It's windy, and that's about all I have worth saying

Greetings, mofos! How the heck are all y'all tonight? I am using forced enthusiam. Again, I should be in bed, because Lord knows at my age, I haven't had a good night's sleep since my 30s. However, I am restless right now, and I am just avoiding having to go outside and secure all the shit in my yard. The wind is wicked, and I can hear these two garbage cans at the side of my house rolling around, and the door to the storage thing under the deck banging in the wind, and it will keep the neighbors up, so I guess I should go deal with it all. However, it's raining and windy and I am in my underwear, and so I don't want to do it until right before bed, so I can just hop into a warm bed. We didn't get the storm like the rest of the province had - I guess it's pretty horrible everywhere else, so I shouldn't complain.

Other than the wind, I have nothing to say. I was going to go back and reread old posts tonight. I never have done that - why, I don't know, being as self-involved as I am, but I think I would cringe at anything I wrote. However, I got to thinking that I'd like to see what they are like. I was having a discussion with my neighbor Bardot the other week, and she loves Chelsea Handler and Burroughs and Sedaris too, and she was the one who said Chelsea had a new book. And then she said "you know, I've seen her show and she isn't funny" and I said I saw her on the View and she wasn't funny, and that led to a discussion about how some people are funny in writing and not funny in person and the opposite was true for Ellen and Seinfeld, who had those books that sucked diseased monkey shit, but who were good at standup, and then she said 'you know, if you wrote a book, it would be fucking hillarious" and I wanted to blurt out "I've got 5 years of a blog you can read" but of course, I could never do that, because I don't want anyone other than the 4 of you peeps knowing who I am. But anyway, I was thinking I should look and see what the old shit looked like, but as I said, I hate reading my writing. But then I got to thinking about someone who I can't fucking stand who just wrote a book (I didn't check the publisher, but it's probably some vanity press) and I thought "if that fucking old pervert got something in print, I should be able to". He really is a fucked up pervert, so I'm not just making shit up. Anyway, whatever.

I was reading my map books and my CAA books again tonight. Tell me people, if you would be a 5 hour drive from San Francisco, would you make a detour to go there? What about if you have 4 kids, which meant you wouldn't be strolling down Haight, dropping acid in memory of Garcia? Really, I would want to see is the bridge, and then I'd head south to Monterey, but anyway, have you been there, or would you go, if you had a gaggle of kids? Let me know.

As you can tell, I am restless. I just want to hit the road - a prisoner of the white lines of the free-free-freeway.....

Back to Chelsea - I haven't really gotten into her book yet. I've only read the first two essays. I am trying to read it slowly. I am also reading a book about ex-Mormons who decided to leave the church. I have no idea why, but i have this weird obsession with Mormons. Anyway, I soak up everything Mormon I can - I think their beliefs are ultimately whacked, but I just love to read about them and especially about those who left. There was a great PBS special this week, called The Mormons - it was like pornography for this old fart, since it was full of history and disgruntled ex-Mormons. And, ever since we went to Utah, it's even more of an obsession, because it was just such a weird thing to see, Mormons all over the fucking place. And you know me, rebel without a cause, who was sucking back coffee and Coke all over the place, just subconsiously screaming "look at me, I'm sooo bad.... ooooh yeah, baby, I'm the fucking FONZ!" Perhaps I need a life.

I've got to go to work tomorrow for a few minutes, to make sure something goes smoothly. That means I have to be up and out the door by 8:30. That sucks. But whatever.

I've got "Ride Like the Wind" by Christopher Cross going through my head tonight. I will always have a special place in heart for that self-titled album of his. I remember it like yesterday - it was late September, 1980 - I was living in the lower mainland in B.C. My sister was getting married in October, and my mother and sisters were off at her wedding shower, and my dad and I were alone on a Friday night. For some reason, we went to Woolworth's, and I remember going up to my Dad and asking if he'd buy me a record for 6.97. Of course, he sighed and swore and then said yes, so there wasn't complete joy with buying the record, because there was just enough guilt in the whole thing to not make me pee my pants in happiness - I always got so excited getting a new record. Anyway, I remember paying for it, and taking it home that rainy, cold night, and then going to my room, which was adorned with religious posters (this was my born again period) and my Val Bertinelli pix, and putting the record on my Kenmore stereo and listening to Sailing first (track 3, side one) and then going to Ride like the wind (track one) and then going to eat chips and Nally's BBQ dip with my dad in the rumpus room, and watching tv - I wanna say Bosom Buddies, but I don't think that was a Friday show, so i don't know now. Anyway, it's a memory that isn't significant, but I like thinking about it. Especially now that my dad is pretty much gone. He mostly doesn't know our names, and he talks nonsense, and most days I am completely immune to it, I think because I mourned him the same time I mourned mom, because it was all at once, but sometimes, like tonight, I just swallow the lump in my throat repeatedly whenever I think of him, because he was such a smart man, and a funny man, and a kind little worry-wart, and just screamed integrity. So yeah, nothing like a windy, rainy, dark, B.C. - like night to set your heart remembering and aching a little. What a cruel fucking disease this Alzheimer's is....

Ugh, my tummy feels a little gross right now. My wife has felt gross all evening - good Lord, I hope it's not another flu attacking us. Or I hope I didn't poison us at supper... LOL, wouldnt that be a kicker - the germophile giving everyone e-coli? Or, maybe we are just tired. It's been a long week.

Spoiler alert - how about Survivor?! Man, they should have kept Coach and got rid of that anorexic bitch! And how about the preview for next week, where they talk about giving the Idol to Russel???? I love it! Idiots, all of them!

Anyway, I am going to run now - I need to secure the yard, and I may watch 1/2 an hour of Play Misty for Me - I pvr'ed it a few months ago, and I haven't seen it for years, but I love that movie.

Anyway, over and out, good buddies....

Dis n Dat

I am so pooped right now, and I should finish playing Easter Bunny, but I just need to sit for a second - I've hidden 2 bags of eggs, one more to go - the kids have a little hunt in the morning.
I've worked like a dog all weekend doing yardwork. I honestly can't remember ever doing so much yardwork so early. Seriously, it's usually May before all this shit gets done. I spent about 5 hours outside yesterday scooping 5 months of dog shit off the grass, and raking, etc. Today we spent about another 5 hours out there, and our back yard looks beautiful. Then we took an entire truckload to the dump. It's awesome to have so much done. But enough about me, how is YOUR weekend going?
In the middle of it all, we had some friends stop by, at like 1:00, and asked if I had a box of wine because they were thirsty, so I cracked open a bottle and we had some wine before lunch. It was sort of funny, because they were just finishing jogging - I guess wine is the new Gatorade.
HEY! I was in Superstore tonight and I found the new Chelsea Handler book! I grabbed it. Can't wait to start it tonight. I hope it's as good as the last two. I liked her first book better than the second, but she could write a Chinese take-out menu, and it would be funny.
Fuck me, I have nothing to say. Nothing. I hate that when you sit down to blog and you realize you don't even have a funny story about bowel movements or sex or something to fall back on. I don't even think I have a good story about celebs or anything to comment on. I was on the TMZ yesterday, and I don't even know half the people they are talking about. It's always some rapper story, who has an apostrophe in his name, like "We'Kno" or something, and apostrophe rapper is either in jail for weapons, or in court because of his baby mama, or fighting tax evasion charges. Then it'll be some Kardashian thing, and as I said before, I don't even know what one is, or it will be something about Michael Jackson's kids. Well, lately it's Tiger and Mr. Bullock, and I don't care about either. And I mean, in reference to Tiger, if he's seriously fucking 34 women at once and you don't wonder where he is? Well honey, get your ass back to Denmark, because you are too dumb to hang with dumb American golfers. I mean, I understand if he pulled the wool over her eyes with one or two, or even three or four, women. But when it's as many as they say, and he is texting her constantly saying he'll be over to piss on her later, well.... ain't you wondering where he is all the time? it's not like he's at work or something. When he's at work, you can spy on him via the Golf channel. But I'm pretty sure he ain't working overtime when he's gone all night. So I dunno.
As for Mr. and Mrs. Bullock, well, I knew he was slime the second I saw him, but you know those strong-minded women - can't talk them out of anything. I think old Sandra should steal Mr. Pitt away from Angelina, just so she knows what it's like. Or start kissing Angie's brother -that may hurt more.
And speaking of the Brangelina's, what's the story with Aniston? If you are pretty, nice, and make 40 million dollars a year, I think that makes you a good catch. However, even K-Fed would be a welcome date at this point for her, so it makes you wonder: what the fuck is wrong with her? For hell's sake woman, even Gary Coleman has a wife. True, he beats her all the time, and they live in rural Utah, but still.... maybe Willis can make an honest woman of her.
On a sad note, I read that John Forsyth died. Sadly, I was sure he died about 10 years ago. I would have bet the farm on it. So now I am wondering who it was that died 10 years ago. Hmmm.... now I am wondering if Jane Wyman is still alive. Remember Falcon Crest? Fuck, that's when you know your social life was in the shitter, when you can remember Falcon Crest on Friday nights. Watching Falcon Crest in your room, drinking new Coke and smoking du Maurier Light Kings, wondering what everyone else was doing that night.
Today the Canadian dollar was at 99.something US - do you think I've been smart enough to change any money? Nope, you got it.
My 6 year old wants to be Elvis for Halloween. I have no idea where that came from. My 8 year old wanted to be Lucille Ball for Halloween last year, so I obviously have old souls.
I've been eating like a mofo all week. Tomorrow will be no different. I bought eggs and bacon for breakfast. Mmmmm, I can't wait. Did I tell you I BBQ bacon because I refuse to cook it in the house? Nothing the a house smelling of bacon to make you want to vomit. This will be my last bad day. I get a physical on the 26th, and Lord knows I have to fool my doctor that I really am and thin person trapped in a lazy fat-man's body.
I suppose I should go upstairs and hide the rest of the eggs, and then maybe catch Maude. She's on Deja View now. Of course, they took off One Day at a Time, so it isn't anything to be ecstatic about. Hey, did you ever notice, if all y'all get NTV, the Newfoundland channel, that in addition to playing music videos at night, that they also play original Twilight Zone episodes on weekends? it's too cool for school.
Anyway, I have nothing to say, so let me leave you with a happy Easter, and if you gave anything up for Lent, I hope you enjoy indulging tomorrow.
Over and Out.

random thoughts for Good Friday Eve...

It took me 147,000 tries to log onto blogspot tonight. I dunno what the problem is, but now I've forgotten what I wanted to say, and I have to get to bed. Let me just say it's been one of those horrid days. It would take me 3 hours to even type of the backstory, so nevermind, but it's sort of ruined my long weekend. Long story I'll fill in later. But it's family drama, and when there is nothing you can do to make things right for the people involved, it just sucks. Anyway, more on all of that some other time once I have time to digest all that occurred (just enough to drive you all crazy, isn't it?). But seriously, the backstory is long and I dunno what to think. Anyway.
In other news, Chunks posted about getting a text sent to the wrong number and the person asked her "who dat?" Of course, Chunks rightfully was disgusted at what the world has come to. Well, MY bugaboo of the week is popular music - specifically, all this dance shit sung by fake Jamaicans. You see, I was in "the city" yesterday for a meeting, and for the 70 mile drive, I didn't have any cds, so I just had to scan the 6 stations I could pick up. WELL. Fuck me Blanche Devereaux, they all played the same songs - In one hour on the way home, I heard that Lady Antebellum song I like 4 frigging times, and Ke$ha or whatever the fuck she is like 3 times, and then a whole fuck of a lot of that Sean Kingston/fake Jamaican bullshit, where it's these whiny dudes singing in some fake Jamaican voice, and the word "shawtee" is thrown around every 20 seconds, and it was enough to make me switch to CBC radio, even though it wasn't time for "As it Happens". Man, I hate that bullshit. It was awful.
So, I was reading Chunks' blog, and see that Lindsay Lohan is close to death because of the crack pipe or the booze or whatever it is she is into. I went to the TMZ to confirm, and yes, it appears she's close to Michael Jacksoning at any moment. Now, I only remember her from that movie with Jaime Lee Curtis, 13 going on Freaky Friday - LOL - I don't remember which one it was - but it's sad. We all love a redemption story, and I think that Britney is proof of this - Lord knows I spent the 13 dollars on Circus even though I have never listened to it - but hell, K-Fed needs Pop-Tarts, so I don't mind. I saw a commercial for old Windbag Winfrey, and she has Janet on sometime next week, and she looks like a bag of shite with that plastic surgery, and I am sure she won't speak above a whisper, and I'll want to hit her. Lord knows things are fucked up when La Toya is the normal one.
Chunks also lambasted those bitches Tiger and Bullock's hubby pumped, but you know, look at those two uglies - nobody would hump them unless they were rich, so it's their own fault, and really, they need to know that. Nothing like a buzz kill like "I'll do it with you, ugly, just for your money" to let you know that you are seriously fucked. if you are poor and can get crazy-ass shit like that, well, then I guess you have talent. But, if all you can get is fake boobed tramps when you are famous or married to someone famous - well, joke's on you, bugfucker.
Speaking of Jaime Lee, what's with the severe short hair and the obsession with regularity and Activia yogourt? I find that all so odd. And the short gray hair - is she trying to prove something? Mike Myers ain't gonna wanna murder any of that severe shit, I'll tell you what....
But I do love her children's book "Tell Me Again about the Night I was Born". It's really good. I actually really like her, but I can't see her promoting a product unless she believed in it, so that makes me think she's always bunged up. Too much cheese, i guess.
Anyway.
I am going to go to bed now, and read. What, I dunno, since the Hornsby book ended kind of stupidly, but I'll find something.
Over and out, good buddies.