You're invited to my birthday party! I'm going to be ...

This weekend is my birthday.

I will be  humbledygrum. 

What's that?

Oh?.   It's my humbledygrumth birthday.

Damn interwebs.

hum-     ble-      dy-      grum!

yea, 21!  

Aw c'mon now, there's no need to go looking at my picture, just take my word  ...

I've got mixed emotions about it.  Honestly.  Does anyone like getting older?

Granted.  When you think about the alternative, getting older certainly beats not getting older. 
{Amen, to that!}


Those of you who aren't aging as gracefully as say, moi, might have a different opinion.... but for the most part, I think we can all agree.  Getting older beats not getting older, provided there isn't an option of getting younger which, shit, you'd be an idiot not to choose!  You can call me Mrs. Benjamin Button and smack me on the bottom!

Really? Could you imagine?!  
Although I don't know if I'd want to go through that whole spitting up and wearing diapers again....... ?!  (perplexed look)

{"Circle of Life" music playing now}

Clearly that's not an option, so forge ahead I shall.


The festivities will begin the day before my birthday.  My girlfriends are taking me out to celebrate.  We do this for each of our birthdays and this being my humbledygrumth (many of them having already reached that plateau,  *sticking out tongue*), it is even more special.

For this "special" birthday we each get a diamond necklace from all the others.  Not really sure which one of us thought up that bright idea... 

"I know! Let's buy eachother glitzy, sparkly necklaces when we turn humbledygrum so we can draw even more attention to our necks (yes, "neckS"), which, much like rings on a tree bark can accurately tell a woman's age."  

Awesome! 

Asses.


But far be it for me to break tradition so, this Friday night, I will suffer the humiliation of being given a beautiful diamond necklace from some of my closest, dearest girlfriends, followed by an equally degrading ceremony with food and wine and ending with our surrender to a cake which, no doubt, will ooze chocolate from every slice.  The things we do in the name of friendship.

I knew this day was coming so I married a younger man (well, a year younger) in the hope that he would keep me youthful.  He'll be humbledybum a week later.  Truth is, he's much more mature crankier than I so I turn to my children to keep me hip to what is still groovy and rad.. Clearly it's working....

For those of you who don't know, I am a twin (as is my husband but this is my story not his).  Yes, I have a twin brother who is 3 minutes older than I (as is my husband's twin, but again, my story, not his) and I take solace in that fact.  What do you mean 3 minutes isn't a lot?        Shut up!

As twins, I have no choice but to share the limelight we naturally celebrate together with the family.  No matter how not young we get, there's always a party! (Yay!)  A feast starting with appetizers aplenty and ending, every year, with an incredibly moist and creamy, Strawberry shortcake.  My absolute least favorite flavor.  Don't ask.  Quite honestly, though, I think I would be disappointed if it didn't.  The night will include stories of our younger years; how sweet and little we were; how we used to dress in matching outfits; how my older brother asked for a boy and my sister asked for a girl and, unbeknownst to anyone, including our parents, Surprise, Baby #2, me, arrived, there was one of each!  
  
So, despite what I feel about it, this birthday will happen in grand style, thanks to some wonderful friends and an amazing family.  And, while I can certainly think of a few reasons to dread it,  there are more reasons to look forward to it!

Let the partying begin!

♪ Do the Hustle! ♪♫  Doot doot doot de doot diddy doot doot
Doot doot doot de doot diddy doot doo, Doot doot doot de doot diddy doot doo.....♫♪

 Are you one? Are you two?............Are you humbledygrum? STOP!

Forgive me Nanny, for I have Blogged ("Nanny" being strictly ficticious of course! he, he ..... he?)

I realize the natural course, having just written about my Uncle Don, who was married to my "Nanny", would obviously be to write about her next.  And I have decided to do just that.  But only after some long, hard soul-searching, heart breaking and garlic wearing meditation.

You see.  I love{d} my Nanny, bless her soul (if she had one) (Ooops, did I say that outloud?).  But she was an acquired taste.  Much like hot sauce on a sardine sandwich with a side of  pickles. Very few people liked understood her.  She was what one might refer to as a bitch stoic. 

Oh she could be very funny, quite entertaining and always, ALWAYS, fashionable.  Not a hair, button or crease out of place (they wouldn't dare!).  One might even say she was ........ conceited.
Forever, the Belle of the Ball.

Even if it was someone else's Ball.
Two days after my mother showed her the dress she was wearing to my wedding as the MOTHER OF THE BRIDE...
My Nanny?
Get this.
My Nanny went out and bought a dress The. Exact. Same. Color!
AS THE MOTHER OF THE BRIDE!!!!!
1, 354,980 colors and patterns out there and she chose this one.
Funny thing.  No one was surprised!

That was "Nanny".  And no-body no-thing was ever going to change her.

But she was MY Nanny and I was her grandchild and in our sheltered little moments in time, it was wonderful.

Mostly. 

Before I go any further, and while I certainly don't believe in evil ghosts, or people coming back from the dead, or say Satan's bff (whose resemblance to my grandmother is uncanny) casting spells or such, I do want to point out that this post is strictly fictional. (There, pretty sure I've covered my ass *nervous laugh*)

It wasn't until I was much older that cousins, aunts and uncles felt it appropriate enough to discuss things in front of me.  It wasn't that she was a bad person.  In fact, if you were family? As the Matriarch,  she made sure you were treated quite well.  After all, you were her soldiers underlings, her successors, her legacy and, as such, you would be trained appropriately to represent and protect her Kingdom and you would eat and dress accordingly.

In fact, that's what it was.
If I had to put a finger on it.
She had her idea of what was right and there would be no discussion, no debate, no argument.
That was that!
Period.

She had this thing about hair.
Actually, looking back.  It would probably be considered an obsession today.
Every time we visited her, could have been twice in one week, she would "trim" our hair.  Bangs were a must, like them or not.  As I type this it sounds a bit "Mommy Dearest" and, quite frankly, is beginning to shed a little light on some of mine and my siblings twitches mannerisms; but, at the time, it was just Nanny.

When she wasn't cutting my hair, she was combing and "styling" it.  Her favorite "do" requiring her to gather all my Nanny-imposed bangs, twiiissstttt them together and pulllllllllllll them waaaaay backkkk with a very pretty, but sharp clip. It didn't hurt, it was far too numb to, so for the rest of the day that's how I wore it, wide-eyed and smiling (two natural side-effects when the hair on the front of your head is bobby-pinned to your butt!)  In fact, I'm fairly certain I am the inspiration behind all those " Mommy, mommy, my pigtails are too tight" jokes.  Only it wasn't pigtails.  I shudder to think what would have happened then!  
Run piggies, run!

Oh! and she sang!
A lot. 
Not at home, or in the shower, or  the church choir.
No that wasn't random enough.
It was usually in a crowded car, or the mall or in the middle of a wedding reception.
Yes, you heard me, a wedding reception.  Apparently she didn't think the band could hold it's own, or perhaps she sensed that they wanted her to sing?! For whatever reason, one second she was sitting at the dais chit-chatting away and the next? Let's just say we still don't know what ninja move she used to get the microphone but it entailed traveling over 3 banquet tables, a set of  drums and an ice sculpture. And before anyone knew it, there she stood belting out the song "Mary", not-so-coincidentally, the brides name.  A song no one had ever heard before, or since. 

If it was raining? "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head";
Easter? "In your Easter bonnet" ...
Don't recall what theme accompanied our haircuts.......
..............................................perhaps "Sweeney Todd"??????

To shave-a da face, to cut-a da hair
Require a grace, require da flair;
For if-a you slip, you nick da skin,
You clip-a da chin, you rip-a da lip, a bit
Beyond-a repair!
 

Quit yer squirming and get in the dang pot!

I'm going to start with my "Uncle Don".  

My stories!?  

You know the one's I promised you.  The one's that were rekindled when my mother, sister and I started reminiscing?!
 
Those stories that I dangled in front of you and for which you've been waiting with bated breath?

Oh, I see, you're playing it cool, like you're too busy doing other things that you completely forgot.  Okay, I'll play along...

Nevertheless, I do have a story, more like a summary for you about my Uncle Don. 


For starters, he wasn't my uncle.  He was my grandfather.


Actually, he wasn't really my grandfather either, well not by blood at least.

"Uncle Don"  was my "step" grandfather on my maternal side and in every other sense of the word, having never met my "real" grandfather (who was a wonderful and debonair gentleman I am told)  he fit the bill and then some. 


Let me give you a second to comprehend that.  It can be a little confusing.  I won't even get into the explanation behind my mother's "Uncle Brother", not that I could if I tried.

No, we're not from the Deep South.  
Yes, we do have all of our teeth.  
And, "roadkill" is not the meat du jour.  At least not knowingly.  
We just aren't very imaginative when it comes to naming relatives.  
Apparently.


My Uncle Don was my mother's stepfather married to her mother, "Nanny" that I told you about in my last post who would have been 101 this month...remember now?  He was a living saint, a characteristic that was not only commendable, but necessary in order to be married to "Nanny", trust me.  Suffice it to say, they complimented each other which could only be explained by the phrase "opposites attract".  (Either that or the "medal" he wore around his neck was in fact a shock device, we'll never know).


Uncle Don was a man's man.  The type of man that spit nails, ate onions like an apple and could lift two times his body weight, with one hand massaging "Nanny's" bunyons feet.  This manliness naturally made him attractive to the ladies too, minus the onion breath... and maybe the nails.... .  But you get the idea.  He was not only strong but sweet and handsome.  Not in the suave Cary Grant kind of way, more like the macho  John Wayne style, chiseled, broad features and the bow-legged walk.  He sported a buzz cut that I'm certain could have served as a table it was so evenly chopped, flat.  His skin was hardened from all the sun exposure while working in construction and landscaping (and possibly a side effect of the "shock device").  His voice was deep and hoarse from years of smoking, an innocent habit at that time.

He loved to please.  Your wish, was his command.  If it could be done, he would do it.  My mother often tells of stories where she would show him a picture in a magazine of a bookcase, or built in beds and as if by magic they were built.  Only it wasn't magic, it was skill and planning and determination (and quite possibly fear of the wrath o' "Nanny").  All the other men watched in awe, offering their help when they could, but mostly assisting and observing.  I think about him now as I delve out the money to the contractors....


But he wasn't all work..  Nooo, Uncle Don liked to have fun.  I can picture him now.  Everything from the beret on his head, to the Charlie Sheen style shirt, to his slacks, shoes and socks ALL THE SAME EXACT COLOR! and real colors! like yellow and red... I'd see that now on a man and probably laugh, but on him, back then, I smiled.  Every time.   I think I would have been disappointed if one day he didn't match.  

And he did this dance.  I can close my eyes and still envision it.  Not sure I can do it justice with words.  Kind of like a shuffle-boogie-two-step, that only he could do.  And we laughed.  With him.  Not at him.    It was as though someone was cracking a whip at him and he had to jump to avoid it ...... hmmmmmmmmmmmm. 

Uncle Don  had that kind of invincible Popeye strength that made it even harder to believe when he had died.  But he left an impression so strong you can't help but smile at his thought! ;)

"A-gah-gah-gah-gah-gah-gah!"

No need of a laxative here....

I don't know what direction this post is going to take.

I have no topic in mind.  No satirical story to embarrass my family.  No tale to tell.

Can Chihuahas swim ??

My daughter, DDA, has a fish tank....a 100 gal, 500 lb.  fish tank...and therein lies my reason for this therapy session subject of blog.......

I'm not asleep... but that doesn't mean I'm awake!

I feel the need to remind you that I am sleep deprived and as such should not and cannot be held responsible for, or unfairly judged by,  my irrational, heartless thoughts and actions, hereafter depicted.

Things that go BOOM in the night!

I stuffed cotton in my ears last night and sat in the closet...Really.  No joke.   No, I don't have an ear infection or swimmer's ear and I have not been diagnosed clinically insane (at least not yet)... I just needed an escape, a refuge, SILENCE!

luck be a lady tonight!

I soo should have bet on the Preakness today.... the daring, wild soul that I am, I pretended to; yes, you heard me, I placed a make-believe bet, a middle-aged imaginary adventure.

If I was a man this would've been so much whinier!

I'm baaack! ....and, I must admit,  sooner than I expected too!  But I was thinking (for a change), this is the time when I need my friends and cyber-friends.  In fact I can already feel the warmth pouring out of my computer... Oh?  that's just the battery overheating?  Well, I know it's there...

Your guess is as good (or bad) as mine!

I started organizing our family photos the other day......trust me, it's not an easy task.....but I was getting worried because my recollection is not what it used to be and I fear that if I wait any longer, I'll be too confused, overwhelmed.

You can't buy happiness?!

Prince Charming (PC)  called in a panic this afternoon..."Holy Sh*t (sweet merciful crap), Sir Bossman is in town and wants to have dinner with the family!"

♪ ♫ cockadoodle- DON'T!

It's 4:22 am....I know that because, aside from the dimly glowing screen on my monitor as I vent type this, the only light for miles (well, at least in my house) is the obnoxiously, illuminated, digital clock with the blazing red numbers, like the eyes of some horrible monster  lurking in the night, that keeps reminding me:

"Before toilet paper was invented, French royalty wiped their bottoms with fine linen"

Random fact, I know, but it got me thinking......what if I was royalty?

I've got a secret!!!!!

Eureka! Hallelujah! Woot Woot! Hooray! Hot Diggety Dog (a little over the top?) Sorry, can't help it. I believe I have just found the answer to every woman's prayers! 

Of course I meant to do that! Now please..GET ME TO THE HOSPITAL!!

I guess some people might say I'm accident prone, clumsy, blundering, uncoordinated....

BoNk ~ BoNk ~ BoNk !!

It was another one of those mornings.....Ah hell, it was just morning, they're all the same...

WHAT If?

If you give the Queen a computer……

                                      She will write a Blog!