My Own Private Idaho

I am sure that the majority of people who still read my blog remember the movie "My Own Private Idaho." It was one of the last movies that dreamy looking River Phoenix starred in before his untimely death. The title of the movie has often been used to describe ongoing craziness/self discovery in one's life. For example, you meet up with a girlfriend for brunch, she tells you all about corporate life, her rise and grind, the fantastically expensive vacation she finally went on. Then she asks you how things are going with you and your response? "Girl, I am having my Own Private Idaho over here." For me, that description does not mean that life is good or bad. It means that I am surviving, rolling with the punches... shit, it means I am making it (even if I am BARELY making it). 

So, that is what has been going on over here-- I have been having my Own Private Idaho. I have been surviving. We are (kinda) making it through toddlerhood-- I will be posting more about that slice of crazy on my mommy blog. We got a new puppy, because I clearly am a glutton for punishment. I (mentally) celebrated the anniversary of my sixth year back in Ohio. Most of life has been good. And then some of it, has been awful. Just today I found out that one of my girlfriends in Chicago passed away. Just today. And while I am making it through my tasks for the day, I am utterly heartbroken. She was a good chick-- in a world where folks generally don't care about one another. She was quick with a smile, a good word, a night of dancing invite. And now cancer has taken her away from this world. From diagnosis to death was quick and trust me, we all got cheated. I will miss her, our conversations and our laughs. 

Life is... hard. At times, it is so happy-- like when my kid sings You Are My Sunshine back to me. And dammit, at times, it is devastatingly sad-- like when cancer steals people that you love, like a thief in the night. In the last three years I have lost a friend in her 30s, a friend in her 40s and a friend in her 50s. After each loss, my heart is a little less full. In between these two extremes- these polar opposites- there is the every day. The nap time battles, the potty training (baby and puppy), the making a dinner everyone will eat, the personal growth... the setbacks. Will you make it to the gym or will you be chunky forever? Will you ever have a normal social life again? Will you get that new job? That raise? A date with that hottie you saw at the grocery store? Shit, will you ever have ten minutes to update your blog-- to document this crazy thing called life? Life. The good, the bad, the in between. Our Own Private Idaho.  

Heartbreak In Cleveland

I can't be the only one who hates to see their home state in the news. Truth be told, Ohio has made nationwide news a lot lately-- and I am not a fan. The news stories are always THE WORST and totally not representative of this great state. I imagine that when asked, most people think that Ohio is a sleepy state, filled to the brim with fields of cows, corn and wheat. Oh, and somewhere in those fields there is a football stadium where Ohio State plays (and wins). Clearly, that isn't representative of our state either... but I would take that imagery versus what has been in the news (several heroin overdoses, kidnappings, child abuse and murders).

Easter Sunday was really relaxed at the Hot, Black and Bitter Palace. We didn't go to church (heathens) so we were hanging out, waiting for Baby K to get a good nap in before going shopping (holiday= less people out, thank you sweet baby Jesus). She was napping when we heard the news. Some random goofy dude shot an elderly man on the streets of Cleveland. Now listen, I am wary of "trending news" because sometimes it isn't true and if you post it on social media, you look dumb as hell... then all your smart friends tell you that you are dumb as hell... so I try not to participate in passing shit around until I know it is true. I waited for confirmation from the Cleveland Police Department. We all got it. A douchebag (who has a name, but you won't see it here because fuck him) pulled his car over and shot an elderly man who was minding his own business. Why? Because his girlfriend ended their relationship and he just could NOT handle himself.

A few things: that break up did not make him "snap" He was looking for an excuse to do some destructive shit. He was calm when he walked up to Mr. Godwin, has small talk and recorded himself shooting that man... FOR ABSOLUTELY NO REASON. The loss of a woman didn't do that. Nah. I have had bad break ups and never once have I thought, "you know what? I should go shoot someone." Not once. Because people don't do shit like that. Life is not all glitter and rainbows. Sometimes Life fucks you up. Sometimes Life grabs you and throws you down a couple times. GET YOUR ASS BACK UP. It happens to everyone. Break ups happen. Bills happen. Life happens.

Point Two: I have to admit that the fact that some of y'all keyboard ninjas "investigated" the ex girlfriend irked the hell out of me. She was investigated so tough that she issued a statement/apology. She had nothing to apologize for. Clearly, she did exactly what she needed to do: she got away from that asshole.

Point Three: Mr. Godwin's family issued a statement (before that animal took his own life) asking for him to turn himself in and stating that they forgive him. AIN'T NO WAY. Nope. And I don't give a shiny shit in a leprechaun's pot of gold if that makes me the pettiest person on the face of God's green Earth. Listen to me when I tell you, if you commit a crime against one of my family members forgiveness is going to be the LAST possible thing on my mind. Call me a bitch... whatever, I may not ever get to forgiveness. I'm ok with that.

Last point: After being confronted by Pennsylvania law enforcement officers this fuckbag killed himself yesterday. Hardest eyeroll EVER. I mean, if his death was his endgame all along why did he... you know what, nevermind.

I am absolutely heartbroken for the Godwin family. In all sincerity, they are in my daily prayers. I could not imagine what they are facing. I know I say it a lot, y'all, but hug your babies... your family... your spouse. It is getting rough out here.

The Death of an Icon - Prince

It's been seven hours and thirteen days... since you took your love away.

Almost two weeks ago the world lost an icon and I have been unable to process that loss or write anything about it until now. I don't use the word icon loosely. I know most people do, but the title belongs to Prince. A music icon that legends are written about. An all encompassing beautiful force. A true work of art. I knew it would happen, but it pisses me off that in less than two weeks most people aren't talking about him anymore. Well, they are talking about the fact that he may or may not have had a will. They are talking about whether he had a drug problem. But not many people are talking about what he would want us to talk about... his music. A catalog UNMATCHED.

On a personal level, it wasn't JUST the music that made me love Prince. It was that supreme confidence that he had. Listen, maybe it was because he was short. Maybe it was because he was so unapologetically himself. I'm not sure exactly what it was but from the first bar of the first song that I heard, I was hooked. Age 8. 30 years...the love grew. I mean how could you NOT love a man that is secure enough to wear eyeliner and mascara (after the 80s)? How could you not love a man secure enough to give whole concerts in heels taller than ones that line my closet/whose hairstyles put most women to shame? How could you NOT love a man that routinely featured women in his groups-- as lead singers, lead guitarists, saxophone players, keyboard players and drummers? How could you NOT love a man that was (by most accounts) a self taught musical genius and was a perfectionist about what represented him? How could you not? A man that gave us the most beautiful love song ever (it is Adore, by the way, and no... you don't want to argue with me about that). A man that exuded self confidence (hello, ass out chaps); a man that was Black... and proud.

You know how you can figure out who a true fan is? It is actually easy-- they know more than just the top 40 (popular) hits by a person. They know more than the first album. They know the B-sides that most people have never heard of. They aren't mad that his songs aren't on youtube because they have already PAID for them. These are the people that will remember exactly where they were when they heard that Prince was found unresponsive at Paisley Park. Those same people will know where Paisley Park IS and what it IS. Those same folks will have silently shed tears for their lost friend. Friend... because the music made you realize some shit about yourself. Friend... because the music got you through some shit. Some tough shit. Some world ending shit. Or some new love shit. Or some new beginning shit. Friend... because we realized a long time ago that all of Prince's songs weren't about sex. And some of the ones about sex were about so much more. Friend... because he helped orchestrate the soundtrack of the life you continue to live. Friend... because he lives on through you and the music he left behind. Friend.

How do you say goodbye to a friend?

Love At First Bite?

Ahhhhh - last week. I have (mostly) recovered so I can talk about it now. Let's all imagine getting dressed for work - minimal lighting (that happens when your spouse works second shift and you work first). Such is my life. Every day. So Thursday morning I was getting dressed, spent a few minutes loving up on the dogs and went to brush my teeth. I came back and the blonde dog was asleep on the foot of the bed. I bent down near his face, to put on my shoes-- startled him-- got a bite to the left cheek. Color me unhappy. I mean, I hadn't even had any coffee at this point. We woke up Lefty, who took me to the bathroom and helped me clean my wound and got me out to work with a band-aid on my face (I looked SO classy-- you are jealous!) It was uncomfortable but it wasn't swollen and I took that damn band-aid off in the parking lot of my job.

Fast forward to Friday around noon. I looked like I was getting a hunchback… on my freaking face! It was warm to touch, swollen and red (yes, Black people can have noticeable red skin, silly!) I left work early and my wonderful Lefty got me an appointment with his doctor. I stroll in with my face, which was getting more and more deformed as the moments flew by, while wearing my sock monkey hat-- don't judge me, I was injured. I got weighed (OMG-- trauma to my ego and any mental stability I thought I had) and head over to an exam room. My personality doesn't stop just because I am growing a small midget on the left side of my face, so I chuckled it up with the nurse while we were waiting on the doctor. Lefty's doctor walks in. She is nice… and looks shocked at the growing mound. She asks the story, I tell her. She tells me what I already knew, tetanus shot and some antibiotics. She was so smooth with it though - she kept looking at my face and when she gave me the script for the antibiotics she said "you need to get this filled…as soon as possible when you leave here." That is doctor code for "your shit is really fucked up and you should get these drugs on board ASAP."

I really did not want to get a tetanus shot either. It isn't that I can't get shots, I spent a week in ICU a few years back (shots galore); it really is that I don't WANT to get shots. You would think that with all this technology around here, there would be an easier way to quickly administer drugs. I mean shots? They are so 1890. Or at least that is what I tell myself when I have to get a shot. Ack. Back comes the nurse. I, quickly, tell her that I am not a fan of what she is peddling. I don't want that damn shot. For real. She tells me if it hurts I can punch her. I begin to soften at the idea of getting tortured by the needle. Just kidding-- I am not hitting some random stranger (Read: THIS time). She gives me the shot. Honestly, it really wasn't bad. Sincerely. I still made her give me a Shrek band-aid. And as I was leaving, I totally copped a sticker that says "I was great"… They may never have me in for another appointment again.

If you are reading this and smiling, say a prayer for Lefty. Last weekend was trying for him (not that he would ever say). I am notoriously the WORST patient ever and he was a gem (even for the face leaking pus stage-- you ARE welcome for that imagery). The dog in question: naps frequently, wakes up and wags his tail at me. He takes being relegated to the dog bed as an adventure. He has no worries in the world. Me? I still have a sore cheek. Such is life.