bleu graz

i am not worthy

the name tag pinned to his standard issue royal blue polo shirt said 'Cameron' and he was doing his best to maintain some semblance of normalcy while scrunched awkwardly in his wheelchair. they placed him strategically at the entrance of the automatic doors so you couldn't help but confront him in all his deformed and handicapped glory.  before the doors even swooshed shut behind me he was stuttering hello. had i failed to give him the courtesy of acknowledgement he deserved then i should just start drowning kittens and stealing from the blind. "how...hhhh...hh...how are yyy...yyou?" he stammered, his head bobbling wildly like a dashboard jesus. 

in the nanosecond that it took for me to respond i noticed that he was young and good looking, almost movie star good looking even and that he seemed genuinely interested in doing his job well. 

i smiled at him and said "i'm fine, how are you?"  but i didn't stop, just kept walking slowly towards the big neon yellow smiley faces announcing the  rolled-back price cuts. the sound of his reply faded as i looked back over my shoulder and saw him attempting to turn his head and look at me. in that moment i felt like shit.  i walked zombie like to the women's clothing section and wandered through sales and colors and prices i should probably care about. as usual i had no idea which section, if any, was meant for me. i lethargically pulled a cute-ish looking flimsy pale yellow and green hippie skirt from the rack and shuffled around aimlessly, wishing i had the courage to go back and talk to him.  my kid calls from his cell and asks where i am. i ask if they saw the dude in the wheelchair when they came in.  i walk closer to the entrance but make sure to lay low behind the plus size tent dresses so i'm not spotted. there is a cute young brunette girl standing behind the wheelchair, her hands rest casually on his shoulders. they seem to be conversing and i love her so much. another guy comes in from outside sporting the same droid blue polo and the three of them laugh and talk.  i'm confused because there doesn't seem to be any pity. i don't see some manager forcing them to spend time with him, it's almost as if...he's normal.

and who the fuck knows what normal is anyway? 

the kids find me and gabe's got that "let's get the hell out of here now" face nearly everyone gets after more than 10 minutes in any SuperStore but babyone wants to show me every single skateboard, bike, plasma tv and board game in the place. they're fighting and whining and i notice it's 8 p.m. and we haven't had dinner. we decide on operation 'cuz i haven't played since i was 11. 

i tell gabe how sad i am and he puts his arm around me. i notice that he's almost like an adult 'cuz he's maybe half an inch away from looking me eye to eye. i tell him that ever since i was very young i've felt extreme compassion for people with disabilities. how i feel almost guilty that cameron's in a wheelchair and i'm not. i wonder if he's happier than me. i wonder what happiness really is. 

gabe listens kindly then gives me the requisite scolding for spending money on crap we don't need and i tell him  it's a goddamned game and a goddamned skirt. i tell him i appreciate his concern but that i'm the parent and he's the kid and i've got it covered. "you don't even have a job" he says.

zach is quiet, as usual and we read each others' minds. we let gabe try to tell us we suck but we know he's only trying to help. 

i glance over at cameron once more as we exit the store i hate but get magnetically sucked into on a semi-regular basis and send him love. 

maybe he's the one who's got it all figured out and i'm the one who needs help.

we walk out into the humid southern air and the smell of wet pavement rises up and fills our nostrils, enriches our brains. 

i try to be here now, for the gazillionth time. this moment, this feeling, this plastic blue bag in my hand. i look at my two beautiful boys and i think of cameron's mom. all is bliss. all is bliss. 

neon bondange

bodhisatvic bliss

he is perfect. everything he does makes all who witness him say, "ahh..." like he's purposely trying to be the cutest fucking creature who ever walked the earth. each pose he falls into so naturally screams PURINA PUPPY CHOW PHOTO SHOOT!!  he makes me laugh as he lopes and scrambles around in his over-sized lanky puppy dog body.  i could look at him for hours.  he's getting so big that i can lie down next to him and cuddle with him like he's an adult human person. when i don't pay enough attention to him he sits right next to me and emits this grovelly growly moan that's simultaneously pathetic and hilarious and makes me want to give him anything he wants.  i wish i had that power. he looks me in the eyes when i speak, comes when i call him, sits when he thinks i have cheese or meat, just in case. how can i resist? i'm in love.  i kiss him on his slightly wet black velvety nose that's speckled with pink and white polka-dots. every time i kiss him he sticks his long pink tongue out real quick. so i kiss him repeatedly, like 5 or 6 times just to see if he'll continue his pattern, which he does.  according to the girl in the groovy asheville dog boutique, he chose me. and i'm inclined to believe her 'cuz chloe and i sat in the stinky wet puppy pens at the humane society and allowed ourselves to be licked, scratched and mauled to death in an honest attempt to finally pick the right one. bodhi was the mellowest guy i' ve ever seen. he stared into my eyes for a long, long time and had the personality of jeff spicoli. if he could talk i'm pretty sure he would've said,  "dude, i'm the one."  some retarded guy came by and told me i couldn't leave without him. i willingly concurred and proceeded to convince the staff that i needed take him home that very day, even though he was scheduled to have his manhood sliced soon and wouldn't be available for a few days. but i convinced them because my reason was solid. my baby sister was visiting from california and brought her dog, talisker (named for a whisky her husband loved) along. when tallie wasn't busy flying the friendly skies, he was home alone for a large part of the day. he needed a friend and had been having a ball with my psychotic little white bichon.  by acquiring a second canine before she went home, she could witness the joy that comes from a furry companion. 

little did i know that my "friend for my dog" dog would end up being my "soulmate" dog. suddenly it became crystal clear that my high maintenance paris hilton dog must be the "friend dog" for my sweet yuppie sis. i'd even go so far as to say he's her soulmate dog. in a few months she's coming to get him at which time i suppose bodhi will need a new friend...

ok, i'll admit that he needs more exercise and training to be the absolute coolest dog ever, but who, i ask, has time for that? i need that sexy foreign dog whisperer guy to come and live with me and train my dogs. i'll fetch him super-sized plastic tumblers of sangria and he'll don his uber-tight levis and pec-enhancing black shirt. he will shoot poison arrows at my dogs with his eyes and say things in spanish that sound quite naughty. but they will instantly come sit stay fetch roll over and make me a cappuccino with perfect foam.  i will thank him by taking naked photos of him at magic light. or maybe just in cowboy boots. the dog whisperer network people will call and beg to use my beautiful and  perfectly trained dogs in an upcoming special and we agree on a $50k fee.  shit, i just got hit on the head with a reality stick that smells suspiciously like poop. 

muchas gracias caesar.

barbie trips

these are a few of my favorite words

asbestos

ballistic

cantankerous

dilapidated

egregious

fellatiate

gregarious

hostile

ignominious

ju-ju

karmic

lackadaisically

metallic

nemesis

oppression

quintessential

rectify

scintillating

trajectory

undulate

vivify

wallow

x-con

yeoman

zen

fun at the oasis

so we're at the pool and i finally send the boys away 'cuz all they're doing is hucking balls at each others' heads. balls that have been saturated in water and they're being loud and feral.  i'm probly s'posed to be doing something about it, but the problem is that i don't really know what that thing is. 

it's like, one day i was me, the me who barely knew who the fuck i even was, then bam! i fall in love/lust, pop out a kid then all hell breaks loose. all of a sudden there's someone else, someone who is entirely dependent upon you. someone who's part you, who just drools and stares at you like an idiot, like you're jesus fucking christ or something. you're all-encompassing, all knowing and quite possibly immortal. you are the fucking shit. 

but they're gone now. i'm sittin' on the black and white rubber lounge chair that's broken and my ass keeps slipping through the cracks. it's no where close to comfortable, even when i lay in this weird-ass position so it doesn't hurt as much.  

the book i'm reading is so incredibly hilarious that i don't want to stop. ever. i have to hide my face with my hands 'cuz spit is flying as i imagine the demented scenes the authoress paints for me. i drink the last of my vodka and hawaiian punch and sigh heavily. is it so wrong to feel that having a full-time, personal bartender is a necessity rather than a luxury?

some germans come to the pool. i know they are german because they talk in staccatos and sound like every nazi movie i've ever seen. the 2 women are voluptuous and super over-tanned. the guys are doughy and have bad, dumb and dumber haircuts. they're talking all crazy and fast and they're laughing like they're on hallucinogenics. i wonder if they are and if germans are generous with their mind-altering drugs. a few chapters later i peek over the top of my book and suddenly they're getting all sexy-time in the pool right in front of me. they're hanging on each other and shoving tongues in ears and pulling aside bathing suits. in an attempt to keep from puking i cough and stare at them like i'm some kind of rent-a-cop angel. they seem completely oblivious of me and swim like dolphins mermaids and salmon down to bikini bottom bar. 

my laundry isn't drying and i'm out of dollar bills. 

i should go but then i have to figure out what the hell's for dinner. hopefully they figured something out already due to their recent incessant hunger. 

i'm fantasizing about having hard salami and fat-full cream cheese as my main course when i spy a little german eye looking in my general vicinity. in fact all eight eyes are fixed on me and they look hungry or horny or both so i quickly gather my shit and high-tail it outta there, throwing a quick "white-light" spell on my laundry to ensure it'll be there when i finally make it back. 

don't get me wrong, just because i've recreated x3 doesn't mean i'm dead to fun and adventure. au contraire. it seems to have created an uber-adventurer, if you will, though she mostly resides in my mind. 

a german orgy...or a bath and salty preserved snacks...

what would hitler do?