My mom had been in & out of hospitals for 5 years. Mainly for infection or pneumonia. Twice the hospital told us she would be dead within 12 hours. That was a surreal situation when I had to dress from head to toe in sterile dressings just to be by mom's side. Then trying to figure out how to say goodbye to her...because you know...she was going to croak some time in the night. Very strange, very stressful. But she always deified her Dr.s orders to die...which I appreciated.
That warm July night was no different then the other casual visits we had with her. Although this time the cancer had seeped into her bone. Another infection, another weekend in the hospital. (my mom timed her hospital stays very well. She would push herself through the week, then go in on the weekend. She didn't want to miss work....hows that for commitment?!)
I remember watching Mom eat her dinner on a tray. She always gave me her jello or pudding....which made me feel guilty. "Ma...you're dying of cancer...eat the damn pudding" She knew how much I liked it...even though I tried desperately to convince her I didn't. Staring at your mothers pudding, salivating doesn't help the lie that you hate pudding.
After her dinner we settled in to watch some movie with Charles Bronson...who my Mom adored. I never got the attraction....the dude had a mustache. But it made us feel better when mom was up & able to drool over Mr. Bronson & his very violent films. I remember sitting on the left side of her bed. My hair was snarled from driving with the windows open. I was self conscious but too embarrassed to ask my mom for a hair brush. My dad was just as disturbed at the rat nest on my head as I was. Mom just beamed & told him "aww let her have her hair the way she wants it. All the kids have the messy look." I looked at her like she was crazy. Again, did she not know me?! I was grateful for her beaming at me, as she tried to rearrange the mop behind my ears. I knew the foof annoyed her, but thought it was sweet that she was allowing me to "grow up".........then I was disturbed. Wait.....mom is not annoyed by my friz factory? That's odd.
8pm. rolled around & it was time to go. We had spent the last half an hour laughing hysterically at my dad's impression of his rival...Mr. Bronson. We got up to leave with lungs that hurt from laughing & gave mom a big hug. Hug, Hug, pat, pat.
"Love you mom"
"Love you too"
"Goodnight Gail, Good night Mom."
"Goodbye"
Goodbye
Goodbye....my mother never uttered those words. It was always Goodnight...never Goodbye. She said it right as my Dad & I walked through her door & turned right towards the elevator. The moment she said it Dad & I paused...then resumed walking. Maybe I was the only one who thought her Goodbye was weird. We stepped into the elevator....and as the door closed my Dad looks at me. "She said Goodbye."
"Yeah...should we go back?"
"I'm sure it was nothing. She'll be fine......."
The warm feeling in my lungs from all the laughing dispersed. I was left feeling hollow & fidgety.
The morning was bright & warm. Dad was off to work & I was home alone. 9:30am the phone rings.......& I know. The women on the other end of the line is calm but firm. "You & your father need to get to the hospital right now."
"What's wrong w/ mom?"
"You need to come now"
"What's WRONG with MOM?!" Now I'm mad for being treated like a child.
"I'm sorry I can't tell you over the phone, you just need to come."
"That's crap & you know it. My Dad is working I may not be able to reach him for another 8 hours & you won't tell me she's dead?"
"You need to come now."
By some miracle I was able to reach my dad on his cell (you know the kind...big, bulky & connected w/ a curly wire to the battery, receiver holder thingy. The "cell phone" stayed in my Dad's truck cuz you know....it was a MONSTER.)
I blink & my Dad is home. Speeding to get to the hospital my mind is on 1 thing....I will miss the Wisconsin Dells camping trip with my girlfriends. Crap...now I need to tell then my moms dead...that sucks.
I blink again Dad & I are standing in the elevator....how did I get here?
The door slides open.
The next week will happen in slow motion. From this new beginning I see every face, every event clearly. I want it to blink by, but I am tortured by the slow motion show in front of my eyes.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
The Disturbed Make Over- Part 2
"Look at you. You look so professional. Is that a new suit? It looks great....what's the special occasion?"
Silence
I heard her question....but my mind was in a tunnel. My brain was fuzzy. My feet heavy. But her question "what's the special occasion?" Had me barreling out off the tunnel...backwards...into reality.
There I sat. Propped up in a salon chain getting my hair "cut". I of course, didn't want it cut. But there I was at the Strictly Yours salon....the salon my Dad dropped me off in while he ran around doing errands.
What's the special occasion rang in my head. Then the realization....HE DIDN'T TELL THEM! Great SNOT...My Dad dropped me off at Mom's salon....& didn't TELL them?! That buttwipe! He left me here to ruin this woman's day. I battled the desire to lie & go on as if nothing was wrong. But I couldn't lie. Not to Moms salon buddies.
"What's the special occasion?"
"Today is my moms wake."
Blank look
"Mom died 2 days ago."
I watched this women's face in the mirror. I could see the statement hit her. It started in her eyes. Eyebrows edged up, redness seeps in. It flowed into her month, then slowly drifted down into her hands. Scissors drop. Hand comes to mouth. Left hand grips my shoulder...not in comfort but in desperately trying to support her body. She can't breath. Tears stream down her face.
"Gail?"
"I'm so sorry. She loved this place. I'm so so sorry." This would be the first time I would comfort someone else over the news of my mothers death. I hated the shock & sadness. I never wanted to be comforted...but I did have an intense urge to comfort others. I guess it took my mind off the reality of my life. It made me feel useful. Made me feel sane.
The stylist went to look for the manager as I sat in the chair feeling eyes burn into the back of my head. Women at the nail cabana (Strictly Yours was strictly tacky but absolutely fabulous. It was decked out in a tropical paradise. Cabanas, thatched roofs, creepy flamingo statues. They even served margaritas.) craning their heads behind them trying not to disturb the liquid cement on their nails. I watched in the mirror the reactions. Word spread that Mom is "no longer eligible for the census" 1 by 1 I watch from the mirror their reaction. Crumbled faces. Hands to mouth. Head bowed. Shoulder shake. I destroyed their day. I caused that cry.
Then.........The Pity look. Gosh I hated The Pity look.
I soon found myself clawing at my salon bib. I had to leave. I had to get this thing off me because.....the manager is heading my way. Get it off, get it OFF! Dang it...no Velcro, stupid snaps held it together. The manager glides closer. NOOOOO, I can't handle pity! Help me creepy flamingo statue in the corner! No No No! I knew what was next....pity with a side of comfort. Arrgggg! I just wanted to run.
But no.
The manager fills up the mirror. I am trapped....with half my hair cut. Notthepitynotthepitynotthepity..............
Hands rest on my shoulders. Here it comes.
"Let's finish your hair & get you on your way. I'm so sorry your mom died. She was a great lady. She was funny. I knew she had cancer but she never showed the pain. She talked about you all the time."
I looked up & realised the manager was smiling. She was easy...breezy. She was telling me about mom. I liked it.
"Now, what I want to know is ....how the hell did you end up here on the day of your moms wake?"
She used the word hell....& I loved her at this moment.
So I began my story.
Mom loved to pamper herself. Mani's/ pedi/scalp treatments/nails...you name it...she did it. She often dragged me to her salon to get her nails done. (getting your nails done...is just a way to handicap a woman. Women with nails say stupid things like "they are jewels not tools." They have a funny way of holding their hands up...like their nails are always wet. They don't garden or pick their noses. They fall down a flight of stairs & break their hips...but first thing they look at is their fake nails...to make sure they are intact) I sat in the cabana reading fashion magazines & hating myself (stupid magazines) I hated the smell of the place but I always got a kick out of my mom. You'd think she was someone famous as she breezed into the salon. Everyone would turn & shout her name. "So happy to see youuuuuu" It was erie...because...well remember the show "Cheers" Yeah, this was the chick version of Cheers.
My mom always made my Dad swear, SWEAR that after she was gone he would bring me to the salon to get pampered. It was his solemn duty to get his daughter made over & made up. I always protested. I hate paint on my nails...it makes me feel claustrophobic. Mom didn't back down on this one. My Dad had 2 jobs to do....get me to the salon & buy my sanitary napkins whenever I needed them....without acting weird about it.
Well my Dad took the words "when I'm gone" Seriously. So...Mom went to meet the reaper & Dad...hustled me off to the salon. I really think my mom had him sign a contract in blood. College? Whatever! Life skills? Pish Posh! Traveling the world? Overrated! You MUST get this girl to the salon! Her future depends on it!
My hair is cut. My bib is off. The salon manager & I laugh & laugh & laugh.
"I'm sorry, but that is so awful it's funny!"
Oh it felt good to laugh. It felt great to make someone laugh.
Soon enough Dad comes back to pick me up. Women flood around him hugging him & talking in quite voices....as the manager & I roar with laughter.
They refuse to take his money. I get hugs & The Pity look from Mom's buddies. Eyes are rimmed red. My heart swells with love for these women. I now realised why mom loved it here. In the salon they cooed & laughed with her. They rubbed her feet & styled her wigs. They gave her margaritas & made her feel normal. Whole. Feminine.
As I turned to leave the manager grabbed my arm. "Take care Sweetie. Come back to see us. Oh...would you mind if I tell the ladies in here what you told me about your make over?"
I see the women of Strictly Yours. Clients, nail techs, stylists take their places....heartsick. Crestfallen. Heavy thoughts will rule their sunny July day.
"Yes, please! I don't mind."
Yes please, one last memory of Mom...make them laugh in her honor.
Silence
I heard her question....but my mind was in a tunnel. My brain was fuzzy. My feet heavy. But her question "what's the special occasion?" Had me barreling out off the tunnel...backwards...into reality.
There I sat. Propped up in a salon chain getting my hair "cut". I of course, didn't want it cut. But there I was at the Strictly Yours salon....the salon my Dad dropped me off in while he ran around doing errands.
What's the special occasion rang in my head. Then the realization....HE DIDN'T TELL THEM! Great SNOT...My Dad dropped me off at Mom's salon....& didn't TELL them?! That buttwipe! He left me here to ruin this woman's day. I battled the desire to lie & go on as if nothing was wrong. But I couldn't lie. Not to Moms salon buddies.
"What's the special occasion?"
"Today is my moms wake."
Blank look
"Mom died 2 days ago."
I watched this women's face in the mirror. I could see the statement hit her. It started in her eyes. Eyebrows edged up, redness seeps in. It flowed into her month, then slowly drifted down into her hands. Scissors drop. Hand comes to mouth. Left hand grips my shoulder...not in comfort but in desperately trying to support her body. She can't breath. Tears stream down her face.
"Gail?"
"I'm so sorry. She loved this place. I'm so so sorry." This would be the first time I would comfort someone else over the news of my mothers death. I hated the shock & sadness. I never wanted to be comforted...but I did have an intense urge to comfort others. I guess it took my mind off the reality of my life. It made me feel useful. Made me feel sane.
The stylist went to look for the manager as I sat in the chair feeling eyes burn into the back of my head. Women at the nail cabana (Strictly Yours was strictly tacky but absolutely fabulous. It was decked out in a tropical paradise. Cabanas, thatched roofs, creepy flamingo statues. They even served margaritas.) craning their heads behind them trying not to disturb the liquid cement on their nails. I watched in the mirror the reactions. Word spread that Mom is "no longer eligible for the census" 1 by 1 I watch from the mirror their reaction. Crumbled faces. Hands to mouth. Head bowed. Shoulder shake. I destroyed their day. I caused that cry.
Then.........The Pity look. Gosh I hated The Pity look.
I soon found myself clawing at my salon bib. I had to leave. I had to get this thing off me because.....the manager is heading my way. Get it off, get it OFF! Dang it...no Velcro, stupid snaps held it together. The manager glides closer. NOOOOO, I can't handle pity! Help me creepy flamingo statue in the corner! No No No! I knew what was next....pity with a side of comfort. Arrgggg! I just wanted to run.
But no.
The manager fills up the mirror. I am trapped....with half my hair cut. Notthepitynotthepitynotthepity..............
Hands rest on my shoulders. Here it comes.
"Let's finish your hair & get you on your way. I'm so sorry your mom died. She was a great lady. She was funny. I knew she had cancer but she never showed the pain. She talked about you all the time."
I looked up & realised the manager was smiling. She was easy...breezy. She was telling me about mom. I liked it.
"Now, what I want to know is ....how the hell did you end up here on the day of your moms wake?"
She used the word hell....& I loved her at this moment.
So I began my story.
Mom loved to pamper herself. Mani's/ pedi/scalp treatments/nails...you name it...she did it. She often dragged me to her salon to get her nails done. (getting your nails done...is just a way to handicap a woman. Women with nails say stupid things like "they are jewels not tools." They have a funny way of holding their hands up...like their nails are always wet. They don't garden or pick their noses. They fall down a flight of stairs & break their hips...but first thing they look at is their fake nails...to make sure they are intact) I sat in the cabana reading fashion magazines & hating myself (stupid magazines) I hated the smell of the place but I always got a kick out of my mom. You'd think she was someone famous as she breezed into the salon. Everyone would turn & shout her name. "So happy to see youuuuuu" It was erie...because...well remember the show "Cheers" Yeah, this was the chick version of Cheers.
My mom always made my Dad swear, SWEAR that after she was gone he would bring me to the salon to get pampered. It was his solemn duty to get his daughter made over & made up. I always protested. I hate paint on my nails...it makes me feel claustrophobic. Mom didn't back down on this one. My Dad had 2 jobs to do....get me to the salon & buy my sanitary napkins whenever I needed them....without acting weird about it.
Well my Dad took the words "when I'm gone" Seriously. So...Mom went to meet the reaper & Dad...hustled me off to the salon. I really think my mom had him sign a contract in blood. College? Whatever! Life skills? Pish Posh! Traveling the world? Overrated! You MUST get this girl to the salon! Her future depends on it!
My hair is cut. My bib is off. The salon manager & I laugh & laugh & laugh.
"I'm sorry, but that is so awful it's funny!"
Oh it felt good to laugh. It felt great to make someone laugh.
Soon enough Dad comes back to pick me up. Women flood around him hugging him & talking in quite voices....as the manager & I roar with laughter.
They refuse to take his money. I get hugs & The Pity look from Mom's buddies. Eyes are rimmed red. My heart swells with love for these women. I now realised why mom loved it here. In the salon they cooed & laughed with her. They rubbed her feet & styled her wigs. They gave her margaritas & made her feel normal. Whole. Feminine.
As I turned to leave the manager grabbed my arm. "Take care Sweetie. Come back to see us. Oh...would you mind if I tell the ladies in here what you told me about your make over?"
I see the women of Strictly Yours. Clients, nail techs, stylists take their places....heartsick. Crestfallen. Heavy thoughts will rule their sunny July day.
"Yes, please! I don't mind."
Yes please, one last memory of Mom...make them laugh in her honor.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
The Disturbed series- Part 1
The high school "therapist" was manly looking....to put it nicely. I remember watching her lips move under her mustache & thinking..."If her mom insisted on bleaching that hairy monster at age 10...like mine had, maybe she would have grown up to CARE."
There I sat. 15 year old girl forced by the school to endure this joke called "counseling" Oh no...they could not have a young lady who's mom just bought the farm running around the High School willy nilly. This girl needs help....and the great school of South was going to give it to me, whether I wanted it or not.
I was pissed when my Dad tenderly broached the subject of the school wanting to counsel me. "Maybe you can talk about Mom? It will be good for you." So said the man who much rather drown his sorrows at bars every night instead of actually talking to a professional. "piiiishh"...men
So there I sat, awkwardly across from this professional who professed she would guide me through this difficult time. She would be there for me...a safe place to fall. I could open up about my Mom's death. "Just release all the pain" she said in a sullen, mono-toned voice.
Open up. I wanted to do that. I didn't want to burden my friends. I figured I might as well use this free counselor to my advantage. She's a professional. She will...guide me.
"How does this work?" I was hesitant but relieved to unload.
"Just start by telling me about your mom...or how you feel about her death." Dr. Ihatemyjob Counselor sighed
"O.K."
"well"
"They stapled my moms eye lids closed."
"umm, what?"
"yeah...STAPLED. I could see the staples. I know dead people sometimes have reflexes & their little dead eyes spring open so they have to glue them closed. But really? Stapled? They didn't even have the talent to cover the staples. Like...glue on some eyelashes man. Cover that up!"
"Well....I see. How did that make you feel?"
"Like....mad. Don't EVEN get me started about the fact that they painted her eyelids purple. My dead mom looked like a hooker that was trying to hard!"
"Well.....I see. So let's now talk about your future. Where do you want to go to college."
"College? Ummm, I'm only 15. I...don't... want to go to college. Do we have to talk about this now. College stresses me out. I'm only a sophomore."
"Well dear, It's never to early to start thinking about college. I have your grades right here. Lets talk about college"
And that my friends....was all the counseling I got about my moms death.
She died this month 22 years ago. I have written down little tid bits about my moms death in my little pink journal. But never have I dived head first in the story of her death. So I figured I have a blog....might as well reveal how disturbed I really am.
Hey, don't you judge me! You would have never had to deal with this if Dr. Counselor Hack had done her job!
So sit back kids and enjoy....my twisted teen hood. It will be fun...no really!
There I sat. 15 year old girl forced by the school to endure this joke called "counseling" Oh no...they could not have a young lady who's mom just bought the farm running around the High School willy nilly. This girl needs help....and the great school of South was going to give it to me, whether I wanted it or not.
I was pissed when my Dad tenderly broached the subject of the school wanting to counsel me. "Maybe you can talk about Mom? It will be good for you." So said the man who much rather drown his sorrows at bars every night instead of actually talking to a professional. "piiiishh"...men
So there I sat, awkwardly across from this professional who professed she would guide me through this difficult time. She would be there for me...a safe place to fall. I could open up about my Mom's death. "Just release all the pain" she said in a sullen, mono-toned voice.
Open up. I wanted to do that. I didn't want to burden my friends. I figured I might as well use this free counselor to my advantage. She's a professional. She will...guide me.
"How does this work?" I was hesitant but relieved to unload.
"Just start by telling me about your mom...or how you feel about her death." Dr. Ihatemyjob Counselor sighed
"O.K."
"well"
"They stapled my moms eye lids closed."
"umm, what?"
"yeah...STAPLED. I could see the staples. I know dead people sometimes have reflexes & their little dead eyes spring open so they have to glue them closed. But really? Stapled? They didn't even have the talent to cover the staples. Like...glue on some eyelashes man. Cover that up!"
"Well....I see. How did that make you feel?"
"Like....mad. Don't EVEN get me started about the fact that they painted her eyelids purple. My dead mom looked like a hooker that was trying to hard!"
"Well.....I see. So let's now talk about your future. Where do you want to go to college."
"College? Ummm, I'm only 15. I...don't... want to go to college. Do we have to talk about this now. College stresses me out. I'm only a sophomore."
"Well dear, It's never to early to start thinking about college. I have your grades right here. Lets talk about college"
And that my friends....was all the counseling I got about my moms death.
She died this month 22 years ago. I have written down little tid bits about my moms death in my little pink journal. But never have I dived head first in the story of her death. So I figured I have a blog....might as well reveal how disturbed I really am.
Hey, don't you judge me! You would have never had to deal with this if Dr. Counselor Hack had done her job!
So sit back kids and enjoy....my twisted teen hood. It will be fun...no really!
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Bikini gets revenge
The summer began to fade & with that, my fear of the bikini waned. Soon it would be all over. I had a plan to rid myself of the awful bikini of shame once and for all. My plan was simple....I planned....to out grow that hideous thing, never to be able to fit in it again! Next summer I would be 13. A real, live TEENAGER! I was sure, once that magical number hit, I would become a hard nosed, say what I want, defiant teenager. (That of course...never happened...but lets not tell my 12 year old self that quite yet!) I would finally be able to say to my mom "NO Women! I shall not wear what you pick out for me! I shall wear what I want, when I want it!"
That summer, I had only worn the bikini of tackiness once. I could see the end of the tunnel! I was almost freeeeee!
That was...until I got.... THE INVITE!
Freak'n A man! I was invited to a 4H pool party. Yes.... I was in 4H. When you moved to the country it's mandatory that every kid joins either the FFA or the 4H. If this didn't happen, red necks pull up in their rusted out Ford & hauled your butt back to the city..."where ya belonged ya country wanna bez!"! My folks worked in "the city" to begin with. We didn't have a lot of friends in Hicksville...so off to 4H I went. I did it to save the family name. Kids are always the sacrificial lamb!
So now I had to attend an end of summer party with my little troop & their chain smoking, gossipy mothers....in my bikini.
So my Classy Mom & I showed up at this house. I am wearing shorts & a Tee clutching my bag of shame. My mother wears her pleated pants & a sweater....with pearls.
We walk into the house & say our hellos. I was then told by my 4H Pool Mom to "Go get dressed & go swimming honey!" So I trudged up to a pink bedroom & changed. I wrapped my towel around me tight like a straight jacket, hoping if I squeezed hard enough..... I would pass out.... & die..... & then not have to go swimming.
I tried to hide in the house. Standing by my moms side, doing my best to work on my telepathy skills. "mom...if..you...love...me...you'll..take...me...home" She never heard me. My friends found me & dragged me outside. All the girls are in their bathing suits (ALL 1 piece thank you very much!) I start to feel embarrassed as the bikini knit is burning into my flesh. But I push down the anxiety & decide to roll with it. " Who cares" I tell myself. This will be the last run of the bikini. After to day I'm done. And life will go on.
Soon I got comfortable chasing my friends in & out of the house killing time while the hot dogs cooked. Then up the deck latter we go. We all hold hands & jump into the ice cold water. Underwater I feel the grip of the girls hands & for a moment I feel OK. "Hey, these girls will still hold my hand even though I'm wearing this tragic thing!" Up to the survive I rise. I gulp in air as I push back my hair & rub my eyes which now STING! Great Craw Fish! My eyes are burning! I rub & rub, momentary blinded. Soon....a sound...comes from the direction of the deck. A deep voice...must be a Dad.
Trying to focus as the chemical bath seers my eye balls. There on the deck..... A dad? Vision become cleared. But now there was no missing them as they rose up on to the deck slugging each other & flexing their tiny chests. Sweet river of mercy. Boys. Half naked. At my stupid, hick 4H pool party. Half naked, punching each other. Half naked on the deck. Half...naked.
No one bothered to tell me Miss Pool had 2 brothers who came with 2 friends. Great Crackinflabbin! What the funk was I to do now?! I was TRAPPED! I had to swim...with BOYS looking at my bikini!
I wanted...to ...dieeeeee.
The wind howled on the prairie that day. It was freezing cold. Cold as my soul....& butt! I scrambled out of the pool into my towel as fast as I could. I NEEDED to check on the hot dogs! NOW! I couldn't breath. I was embarrassed & freezing cold. Soon help was on the way....lunch was served. Ahhh no more swimming. I was safe in my towel tent. Everyone races out of the pool & we all jam in together at the picnic table. Warn hot dogs before us.
But now parents head inside to eat...because it's SO cold! We all chatter & vibrate. So.....cold....in our wet bathing suits. The girls get a bright idea to put on their shirts over their suits. But soon the wet from their suit soak the shirt & they are back to being hypothermic. I decide I will be the smart one! I run up to the pink bedroom to change clothes. But just as I begin to change, my mother walks in to the room to see if I am ok. I tell her I'm done swimming. But she tells me I have 2 more hours of swimming. Oh...yeah.... So I decide to then just strip off my wet top & put on my shirt. Then I just have to put on the wet, cold top instead of the whole kitten caboodle when I get back in to swim! Brilliant! So off goes my top & on goes my long black shirt. I wrap my towel around my waist & sulk down to the party.
We stuff ourselves with hot dogs, making fun of the wimpy parents sitting in the warm house drinking their coffee in front of the huge glass bay window. We laugh & laugh. The BOYS Laugh with us. Teasing & heckling us girls. We revel in the attention. Next thing I know all of us kids are running & jumping & throwing hot dog buns & screaming & falling all over ourselves with fun. I'm full & happy. The sun warms my black shirt just right. We realise we only have a half an hour left to swim. So we throw caution to the wind & decide to take one last swim in the freezing water.
Running across the yard the boys rip off their shirts, scamper up the the deck & try to break each others necks as they jump in the pool. One by one the girls march up the deck, strip off their shirts & jump in. Screaming as they hit the water. I...am the last one up. Running to the edge of the pool. I don't want to jump in, it's so cold. But the kids beg. If they did it, I had to do it. So I throw of my towel & peel off my long, black shirt. I swing the shirt over my head, just like they do in those strip shows (where I learned about strip shows I will never know) The shirt flies behind me & I stand there for a second dreading that cold water. As I contemplate if I realllyyy want to get my now comfortably warmed body wet, a cold hand shoots out of the water, and grips my my ankle. I feel myself being pulled into the water. I hear yelling behind me. Slow motion... I am dragged into the water. The realization hits me....in slow motion.
I never put back on my bikini top.
Underwater I stay. I can hear nothing above me. No muffled voices. No laughter. Nothing. They saw me I think. No really?! I did ...a ...STRIP...tease! In front of BOYS! In front of PARENTS! I can see what the parents see....my bare back, swinging my shirt over my head giving the boys the show of my one breast! Damn that city girl!
OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG!!!!
My lungs run out of air. I stay at the bottom of the pool with my eyes burning. I cry & cry & cry as fast & as hard as I can for the 21.5 seconds I am underwater. My poor mother! OH BIKINI OF SHAME how you mock me! My mom will be so mad at me. What am I going to do?
Well..........After I become faint from the lack of oxygen. I swallowed what dignity I had & stood up. Luckily one of the DAD'S (Sweet Jesuit PRIEST...could it get any worse?) threw my shirt toward me. I pulled it right on & hopped out of the water pushing past the dad. I see my poor, heart broken mother race towards me. Her face drawn tight. Her eyes rimed with red. Oh no! My mother will never survive this shame I brought on the family name. She wraps a dry towel around me & hustles me to the house. Where parents sneer at me...the slut.... as I get pushed up the stairs to the pink room. The door closes. My mom starts to cry.
Cry.
Cry because SHE IS LAUGHING SO HARD!
Are you serious?! She desperately covers her mouth with her hands trying to stay the gut busting guffaws. Tears streaming down her face. She can't breath she is laughing so hard. She tries to talk but what comes out are little crying, meowing sounds. Oh for the LOVE OF PETE!
I try not to laugh. I want to punch something. My mom is trying to be a saintly mother by dressing her humiliated naked daughter... as she laughed. Compassion mixed with bone cracking laughter. That...is my life.
My mom & I left the party in a hurry. She continued to laugh for hours. I ended up laughing too. Thankful she wasn't mad at me. Thankful that it was so funny that it turned out not to be a big deal. So I bared my one tiny breast for all to see....life happens....right? No big deal? The Good Lord didn't kill me like I had asked that day ....but he did bless us with moving to a new town shortly after that. Talk about a blessing! Can you imagine my fate if I would have stayed in Hickville....to attend Jr. High? Or High School?! I dare not even entertain that thought.
I did return to 4H for a few more months. No one said a word about "the incident." But they did feel it was necessary to take away my job.
I was the 4H entertainment councilor.
That summer, I had only worn the bikini of tackiness once. I could see the end of the tunnel! I was almost freeeeee!
That was...until I got.... THE INVITE!
Freak'n A man! I was invited to a 4H pool party. Yes.... I was in 4H. When you moved to the country it's mandatory that every kid joins either the FFA or the 4H. If this didn't happen, red necks pull up in their rusted out Ford & hauled your butt back to the city..."where ya belonged ya country wanna bez!"! My folks worked in "the city" to begin with. We didn't have a lot of friends in Hicksville...so off to 4H I went. I did it to save the family name. Kids are always the sacrificial lamb!
So now I had to attend an end of summer party with my little troop & their chain smoking, gossipy mothers....in my bikini.
So my Classy Mom & I showed up at this house. I am wearing shorts & a Tee clutching my bag of shame. My mother wears her pleated pants & a sweater....with pearls.
We walk into the house & say our hellos. I was then told by my 4H Pool Mom to "Go get dressed & go swimming honey!" So I trudged up to a pink bedroom & changed. I wrapped my towel around me tight like a straight jacket, hoping if I squeezed hard enough..... I would pass out.... & die..... & then not have to go swimming.
I tried to hide in the house. Standing by my moms side, doing my best to work on my telepathy skills. "mom...if..you...love...me...you'll..take...me...home" She never heard me. My friends found me & dragged me outside. All the girls are in their bathing suits (ALL 1 piece thank you very much!) I start to feel embarrassed as the bikini knit is burning into my flesh. But I push down the anxiety & decide to roll with it. " Who cares" I tell myself. This will be the last run of the bikini. After to day I'm done. And life will go on.
Soon I got comfortable chasing my friends in & out of the house killing time while the hot dogs cooked. Then up the deck latter we go. We all hold hands & jump into the ice cold water. Underwater I feel the grip of the girls hands & for a moment I feel OK. "Hey, these girls will still hold my hand even though I'm wearing this tragic thing!" Up to the survive I rise. I gulp in air as I push back my hair & rub my eyes which now STING! Great Craw Fish! My eyes are burning! I rub & rub, momentary blinded. Soon....a sound...comes from the direction of the deck. A deep voice...must be a Dad.
Trying to focus as the chemical bath seers my eye balls. There on the deck..... A dad? Vision become cleared. But now there was no missing them as they rose up on to the deck slugging each other & flexing their tiny chests. Sweet river of mercy. Boys. Half naked. At my stupid, hick 4H pool party. Half naked, punching each other. Half naked on the deck. Half...naked.
No one bothered to tell me Miss Pool had 2 brothers who came with 2 friends. Great Crackinflabbin! What the funk was I to do now?! I was TRAPPED! I had to swim...with BOYS looking at my bikini!
I wanted...to ...dieeeeee.
The wind howled on the prairie that day. It was freezing cold. Cold as my soul....& butt! I scrambled out of the pool into my towel as fast as I could. I NEEDED to check on the hot dogs! NOW! I couldn't breath. I was embarrassed & freezing cold. Soon help was on the way....lunch was served. Ahhh no more swimming. I was safe in my towel tent. Everyone races out of the pool & we all jam in together at the picnic table. Warn hot dogs before us.
But now parents head inside to eat...because it's SO cold! We all chatter & vibrate. So.....cold....in our wet bathing suits. The girls get a bright idea to put on their shirts over their suits. But soon the wet from their suit soak the shirt & they are back to being hypothermic. I decide I will be the smart one! I run up to the pink bedroom to change clothes. But just as I begin to change, my mother walks in to the room to see if I am ok. I tell her I'm done swimming. But she tells me I have 2 more hours of swimming. Oh...yeah.... So I decide to then just strip off my wet top & put on my shirt. Then I just have to put on the wet, cold top instead of the whole kitten caboodle when I get back in to swim! Brilliant! So off goes my top & on goes my long black shirt. I wrap my towel around my waist & sulk down to the party.
We stuff ourselves with hot dogs, making fun of the wimpy parents sitting in the warm house drinking their coffee in front of the huge glass bay window. We laugh & laugh. The BOYS Laugh with us. Teasing & heckling us girls. We revel in the attention. Next thing I know all of us kids are running & jumping & throwing hot dog buns & screaming & falling all over ourselves with fun. I'm full & happy. The sun warms my black shirt just right. We realise we only have a half an hour left to swim. So we throw caution to the wind & decide to take one last swim in the freezing water.
Running across the yard the boys rip off their shirts, scamper up the the deck & try to break each others necks as they jump in the pool. One by one the girls march up the deck, strip off their shirts & jump in. Screaming as they hit the water. I...am the last one up. Running to the edge of the pool. I don't want to jump in, it's so cold. But the kids beg. If they did it, I had to do it. So I throw of my towel & peel off my long, black shirt. I swing the shirt over my head, just like they do in those strip shows (where I learned about strip shows I will never know) The shirt flies behind me & I stand there for a second dreading that cold water. As I contemplate if I realllyyy want to get my now comfortably warmed body wet, a cold hand shoots out of the water, and grips my my ankle. I feel myself being pulled into the water. I hear yelling behind me. Slow motion... I am dragged into the water. The realization hits me....in slow motion.
I never put back on my bikini top.
Underwater I stay. I can hear nothing above me. No muffled voices. No laughter. Nothing. They saw me I think. No really?! I did ...a ...STRIP...tease! In front of BOYS! In front of PARENTS! I can see what the parents see....my bare back, swinging my shirt over my head giving the boys the show of my one breast! Damn that city girl!
OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG!!!!
My lungs run out of air. I stay at the bottom of the pool with my eyes burning. I cry & cry & cry as fast & as hard as I can for the 21.5 seconds I am underwater. My poor mother! OH BIKINI OF SHAME how you mock me! My mom will be so mad at me. What am I going to do?
Well..........After I become faint from the lack of oxygen. I swallowed what dignity I had & stood up. Luckily one of the DAD'S (Sweet Jesuit PRIEST...could it get any worse?) threw my shirt toward me. I pulled it right on & hopped out of the water pushing past the dad. I see my poor, heart broken mother race towards me. Her face drawn tight. Her eyes rimed with red. Oh no! My mother will never survive this shame I brought on the family name. She wraps a dry towel around me & hustles me to the house. Where parents sneer at me...the slut.... as I get pushed up the stairs to the pink room. The door closes. My mom starts to cry.
Cry.
Cry because SHE IS LAUGHING SO HARD!
Are you serious?! She desperately covers her mouth with her hands trying to stay the gut busting guffaws. Tears streaming down her face. She can't breath she is laughing so hard. She tries to talk but what comes out are little crying, meowing sounds. Oh for the LOVE OF PETE!
I try not to laugh. I want to punch something. My mom is trying to be a saintly mother by dressing her humiliated naked daughter... as she laughed. Compassion mixed with bone cracking laughter. That...is my life.
My mom & I left the party in a hurry. She continued to laugh for hours. I ended up laughing too. Thankful she wasn't mad at me. Thankful that it was so funny that it turned out not to be a big deal. So I bared my one tiny breast for all to see....life happens....right? No big deal? The Good Lord didn't kill me like I had asked that day ....but he did bless us with moving to a new town shortly after that. Talk about a blessing! Can you imagine my fate if I would have stayed in Hickville....to attend Jr. High? Or High School?! I dare not even entertain that thought.
I did return to 4H for a few more months. No one said a word about "the incident." But they did feel it was necessary to take away my job.
I was the 4H entertainment councilor.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Bikini of shame
I was looking forward to our Florida vacation. I was 12. I was a kid. I was developing....1...breast...at a time. I was lanky & bony & clumsy & buck toothed & had a perm.
I was excited to flee the 1 stop light, backwater farm town for the warm sands of Florida.
I was excited....until my mother brought home.....THE BIKINI.
What possessed my mother to buy me THAT bikini? Have ya seen it? Brown, KNIT. What time period was brown knit bikinis in fashion? It certainly wasn't in the 1980's! Did she hate me? Did she get a kick out of it when I tried it on? Did she stifle a giggle as I desperately tried to maneuver the knit out of my bum cheeks without looking stupid? Did she not know me at ALL?
At first I thought it was a joke. A twisted, mean joke. But she was serious. "You'll look so cute & so grown up!" I wished it was a joke....because the feeling I got as I tried it on & as she beamed with pride..... was a feeling of piercing, bottomless, haunting, therapy inducing humiliation.
The BIKINI of SHAME was like I said many times before...a brown stripped, knitted monstrosity. The top had to be tied around the neck & back. The bottoms were held together by ties on the side. Ties that more then once came lose. They loosened to a point that when I came out of the water (in the sparkling pool you see in the background)....my bottom came off. My BOTTOM....CAME....OFF. Sweet Jiggly BEETLE! THE SHAME! But luckily for me the motel we were staying at in sunny Florida was a dump...that no one stayed at. So even though I came out of the water bare a$$ed, my mother was the only 1 to see it. "You are so cute!" (I think she wasn't right in the head...really)
I did survive Florida.
I survived...the Bikini.
Back at home in farm country I felt I was safe. There was no pools in Farm Town...only a private rock quarry that my Dad took me to once in awhile to go fishing & swimming. (really don't know how I survived swimming in...a rock quarry that, at its shallowest point was 20 ft. deep!) I could jump in the water with my clothes on. I didn't need no stink'n bikini!
But then...my luck ran out.
I was invited to a swim party for my 4H group.
My mother made me wear...The Bikini.
To a swim party....with BOYS.
The Lord never did kill me...no matter how hard I asked him to.
I need to go to my safe place now. Once I have my therapist on speed dial...I shall return with the rest of
THE BIKINI OF SHAME.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Stick a fork in me
I'm done!
I like to blame my bad days on the actual days. "Curse you Monday! You are rainy!" Grrr!! "Dang nab it Wednesday, you are so humpy!" Grrrrr!
I hate to place the blame on me or the kids or the dog or the husband...it always have to be the days.
Thursday...oh Thursday. Why you have to be....as the kids like to say...hate'n? I just feel like I'm banging my head against the wall....& the red spot is getting bigger. I have issues with my kids. That's the nice thing to say. The real story is at sometimes, some kids are WACK! And I...am done. I can't fix it. I can't fix them, I can't even fix breakfast anymore. Oh man I need a fix!
I have a kid I try to discipline & try to have their back at the same time. Yeah....that's a great combo! Well I had their back about something. We went over this nit picky crap their teacher was pulling. Got the whole story. Then proceeded to write a little note to her. I ended the note with a question. "Why do you have a 2x4 shoved in a place it shouldn't be?" No...I wish. I'm sassy...I ain't THAT sassy...only in my dreams! But I was stupid & ended the note with a question, so of course she calls me.
Uggg. I hate when teachers call. She explains her side of the story to me as I sit in silence. I didn't defend my child. Don't worry, it wasn't anything we needed to fix, it was just they were being "charged cash" for not turning in a form I had to sign....even though they still had 5 days before it HAD to be turned in. Yeah....little water torture techniques they hon in school.... is boring HOLES in my head!
So anyway, I didn't ask her questions. I just let her talk. Whatever, I just wanted to get back on FB. I had better things to do then listen to spin. After I got off the phone I was mad at myself. "Self....you didn't even ask her probing questions? Never defended the kid & say "give back their cash you meany mean head!" Oh no...I just said "ok, thanks for calling."
LOSER.
Oh but wait.
A few minutes later we discuss things w/ the Daddy & low & behold....my kid...LIED. Bold faced, straight up lied about what happened. (That was a slip on their part....opps, the cat I was beating in the bag, just stumbled out!") He never was charged $$. That happened to other kids. When we were discussing the stupid note to the teacher...the kid approved it & off it went.
Kid lied.
And I'm the fool. I can't do this. And to think...it only gets worse. Great...can't wait.
So I have decided my kids will be better off without me. Oh sure, they will cry for about 2.7 minutes, but life will go on & they will be fine. FINE! Because if I stay here any longer...they will NOT be fine. So moms, if you feel like you need to get away...come on over. The crazy train will be pulling out of the station & heading out to....hummmmm where can we go? Where do mom's go when they run away? Hawaii? Bourbon Street? Fuji? St. Louis? The bar down by the tracks? My van...locked...parked down the street where they can't find me?
Ah screw it...I can't even run away correctly! Who allowed me to be a mother anyway?
I like to blame my bad days on the actual days. "Curse you Monday! You are rainy!" Grrr!! "Dang nab it Wednesday, you are so humpy!" Grrrrr!
I hate to place the blame on me or the kids or the dog or the husband...it always have to be the days.
Thursday...oh Thursday. Why you have to be....as the kids like to say...hate'n? I just feel like I'm banging my head against the wall....& the red spot is getting bigger. I have issues with my kids. That's the nice thing to say. The real story is at sometimes, some kids are WACK! And I...am done. I can't fix it. I can't fix them, I can't even fix breakfast anymore. Oh man I need a fix!
I have a kid I try to discipline & try to have their back at the same time. Yeah....that's a great combo! Well I had their back about something. We went over this nit picky crap their teacher was pulling. Got the whole story. Then proceeded to write a little note to her. I ended the note with a question. "Why do you have a 2x4 shoved in a place it shouldn't be?" No...I wish. I'm sassy...I ain't THAT sassy...only in my dreams! But I was stupid & ended the note with a question, so of course she calls me.
Uggg. I hate when teachers call. She explains her side of the story to me as I sit in silence. I didn't defend my child. Don't worry, it wasn't anything we needed to fix, it was just they were being "charged cash" for not turning in a form I had to sign....even though they still had 5 days before it HAD to be turned in. Yeah....little water torture techniques they hon in school.... is boring HOLES in my head!
So anyway, I didn't ask her questions. I just let her talk. Whatever, I just wanted to get back on FB. I had better things to do then listen to spin. After I got off the phone I was mad at myself. "Self....you didn't even ask her probing questions? Never defended the kid & say "give back their cash you meany mean head!" Oh no...I just said "ok, thanks for calling."
LOSER.
Oh but wait.
A few minutes later we discuss things w/ the Daddy & low & behold....my kid...LIED. Bold faced, straight up lied about what happened. (That was a slip on their part....opps, the cat I was beating in the bag, just stumbled out!") He never was charged $$. That happened to other kids. When we were discussing the stupid note to the teacher...the kid approved it & off it went.
Kid lied.
And I'm the fool. I can't do this. And to think...it only gets worse. Great...can't wait.
So I have decided my kids will be better off without me. Oh sure, they will cry for about 2.7 minutes, but life will go on & they will be fine. FINE! Because if I stay here any longer...they will NOT be fine. So moms, if you feel like you need to get away...come on over. The crazy train will be pulling out of the station & heading out to....hummmmm where can we go? Where do mom's go when they run away? Hawaii? Bourbon Street? Fuji? St. Louis? The bar down by the tracks? My van...locked...parked down the street where they can't find me?
Ah screw it...I can't even run away correctly! Who allowed me to be a mother anyway?
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Mother issues
My mom was...how shall I put this....HOT. As a child I would break into her stash of pictures & stare in wonder at her black & white world. I loved the dress, the hair styles, the really high waisted pants her brother would wear. I became to despise the tacky day-glow ugly around me. I relished dressing in a manner that was more elegant & civilized. Uggg, the 80's...I was SO not into the fashion! Gag me with a spoon! In my mothers pictures I saw beauty & refinement.
Some would say I have Mother Issues....nooooo REALLY? And believe me...it's not because I had to pick out what dress my dead mother would have to wear in her pink casket....oh no. It had more to do with the image I had to life up to. Did I mention my mom was HOT?
How HOT was she?
She was so HOT she had no idea she was hot.
She was so HOT, even when she was 50 she got slapped on the bum walking down the street!
She was so HOT she was a model.
My Mother was a model....how could I compete?! ( her modeling career lasted one magazine article & one newspaper picture, but STILL!)
So excuse me if I have mother issues. After you see my proof, you will understand me better. And hopefully feel sorry enough for me to take me out for Sushi so I can wipe my tears with a napkin covered in Wasabi paste!
Mother, you are loved....even if you were HOT!
Here is my darling mom as the coveted "Yellow Pages Girl". Work that lawnmower! I remember my mom & I laughing so hard at this picture. I love the awkwardly bent finger. She said that finger pose was a doozy! I think she got paid 50 cents.
Here is a portfolio picture. She hated this picture. Why? Cuz she was "fat". I was shocked when I heard that. Look at her! Girl got some meat on her....& it's prime rib! My Dad & I thought she was perfect. Just goes to show you girls had issues with their body image that go wayyyy back.
AWWWWWW YEAHHHHH! Hey! Stop ogling my mother! Who can rock a plunging, orange jumpsuit? My mom, that's who! I swear she dressed that way just to piss off her mother....who can't even look at the camera. Awesome!
I love this photo! My 12 year old mom at the Boardwalk with her beloved father. She's so cute! Her red hair plopped on her little head! Her little bathing top! Her huge bathing bottoms that look like granny panties! Love, love it! Now if you would please direct your gaze to her "popped" knee. She how she pops it out across her other knee. That is her secret to a good pose. She learned early how to arrange her body. So next time you feel a little self conscience about your picture being taken....do the sassy "knee pop" you can't go wrong!
I....am not...knee popping. See the difference? 12 year old mom...knee pop=cute. Me...12 years old....sans knee pop=tragic. Don't let this happen to you. I know you all love the macrame bikini & you can't get enough of that eye sore. Well not to fear little campers....my next blog installment will be "The great & horrible & sad & scarring experience of the Bikini of death!!!!" Where I shall tell you all about my bikini shame. Stay tuned!
One word...stunning. This little hot tamale is my mom....at 17 years old. Yeah...I know. P.S...I still have those earrings w/ matching glass necklace. Be jealous.
Would you like to see me at 17?
Wait for it.
Waitttttt for it.
GOOD Heavens! Agggg! WHY? WHYYYYY? Do you SEE why I have issues? DO YOU?! 
Lets' cleanse our eyeball pallet & end on a good note....& not a note that will be burned into your nightmares. Shake it off...shake it off!
You need not worry. My mother's lessons have paid off. I "knee pop" when I am unsure about how I look right before that picture is snapped. I fake confidence because it forces my shoulders back. I push my boobs out when I walk, because she said it will make me walk taller. That...was hard "Mom! I feel lewd! This is obscene! I feel stupid!" (Note to self...when your boobs point down to your navel...don't push out your almost 40 year old boobs.....lest you end up sticking your tummy out. Just pretend they are up where they were when you where 17....so...soooo long ago) But sure enough...she was right. In fact....she was right about everything she told me. So thanks mom for all the good advice. You...were right.
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